#this has been taking up so much of my thinking i have to put it somewhere

[somanyideassolittletime]

Hints.

Pairings: Jack Abbot x Fem!Attending!Reader

Summary : 4 Times Shen Hinted to Jack about you, only for you to beat him to it .

Warnings: fluff, Jack is yearning hard, slow-ish burn, language, grammar inaccuracies (maybe? idk), Shen being a lil shit. Not beta read. 

Author’s note: this is my first time writing a fic, sooooo might be shitty, but I can’t stop thinking of this trope so I decided to take matters into my own hands. 

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Jack has always noticed you. He notices that you always spend just a little bit more time with peds patients, he notices that you always indulge in small talks from your coworkers, he notices which nurses you are closest with, he notices almost everything about you.

He was well aware of how close you and Shen are—from seeing both of you for the first time ever, seeing the two of you whispering, thinking “these two are either way too stupid or just way too capable,” which he later proved was indeed the latter. Both you and Shen have the honor of being nicknamed ‘dumb and dumber’ due to how much you bicker with each other. It came with the territory of being best friends since med school. 

He was glad to have you both under his guidance; the two of you seemed to be able to work autonomously, and his weight has been lighter ever since ‘dumb and dumber’ started working with him. 

He knows that you always carpool with him every time you both are on the same schedule, knows that you are the one who introduced Shen to his current girlfriend, and knows that you and Shen tell each other about everything. He also knows that the care you two have for each other is nothing more than a sibling bond.

What Jack doesn't notice about you? How much you are actually in love with him.

What Jack doesn't know? Shen is so tired of seeing both of you pining for each other.

Both of you always held the same admiration for each other, and the caring nature you both have somehow multiplied when either one of you is on the receiving end of said nature. But Jack, being Jack, brushed it off as you being in your usual caring nature. Which was true, to some extent, you have always been caring for others. And you, being you, always brushed it off as Jack being a good senior. 

For others, though, it was as plain as day that you both are in love with each other, and since Shen was basically your body double, he often gets asked about the two of you which pisses him off to no end. 

(‘You can’t put a bet when you know what’s going on,’ Perlah once argued with him. Earning a nod of approval from others. 

‘I know nothing, all I know is that she’s got a big crush on someone. I don’t even know if it’s Abbot,” Shen reasons. 

‘The moment she tells you anything, anything at all, you be a man and back off from this.’ Princess points at him. 

‘Yeah, yeah, you guys know I’m a good sport.’ )

| one

After finishing up a GSW case on a police officer, Jack walked out of the room, eyes scanning for you—a habit he realized he's been doing way too much of. 

When his eyes found your figure, he watched as you were talking to an officer, friends of the patient he just finished up on, no doubt.

Now he knew that you had been asked out many times before this, but he had only heard it in passing, on gossip, on jokes that usually involve you cutting in with a laugh and a mocking tone of “yeah right as if”. Now that he has had the chance to see it in action, he doesn't know how to feel.

The officer you were talking to was smiling, with his hands on his vest, a straight posture, and chest slightly puffed. He could easily pass as the poster boy of the force, like he just came out of a police TV show you and Shen liked so much. He knew it because he once overheard you and Shen talking about it, and he arrived home, searched all of his subscriptions to watch one of the episodes. 

He tried to tear his gaze away. Really tried. But he couldn't, he was curious about what that boy could possibly be talking about with you.

Even from afar, without hearing what you two were talking about, he can confirm that the officer was definitely asking you out, with how much machismo he's exuding while offering his name card.

But he knows you better, he can see that you look awkward, like you just indulge him in a conversation out of respect and common courtesy, not out of interest.

Deciding that he could not see another minute of this, he decided to approach you but not even a step later that Shen stepped beside him and snorted.

“Jesus, she could probably make a yellow page by now if she doesn't throw those cards away.”

“What?”

“He's too young for her. She's too smart for him.” He commented as if it were obvious.

“He probably is the same age as you, man, and he seems…nice,” Jack argued, though he did find a slight comfort in Shen’s comment.

“Trust me. The moment he stepped away, she’ll throw that card.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“You.” He said it casually.

“What?” He croaked out.

Shen sighed, patted his shoulder, and walked away from him.

wanting to search for some truth in Shen’s words, he stayed in his spot, still looking at you.

True to Shen’s word, the moment the officer stepped away far enough from you, you walked over to the nearest trash bin and smoothly threw the card away.

He's not sure what he's supposed to be feeling now. Happy that you declined that guy's offer? Or sad that you didn't get a good night out with a guy that seemed nice.

But somehow his mind kept repeating what Shen told him. Looking for any reason—one that didn't give him any hope.

He must've zoned out for a while because you suddenly appeared in front of him, “Jack. Hey. Are you good?” Waving your hand in front of his face.

He's gotten you to call him Jack when it's just the two of you. Courtesy to one time you were looking for him on the rooftop, and you jokingly said, “Do I get to call you Jack now that I just walked an ungodly amount of stairs just to search you? Because I really just used the stairs.” Upon hearing his name uttered by you, he said yes, to please call him Jack.

He shook his head and searched for your eyes. “Yeah. No, I'm good. He seemed nice,” he pointed his chin towards the officer from earlier. Now standing in the ambulance bay, looking at his phone.

“Not my type,” you replied with ease. Because it was the truth, you never wanted to put anyone you decided to go on a date with, only for you to spend the entire time wishing it was Jack. 

“You never seem to be hit on by your type, huh?” He commented. Because that’s what’s been bothering him, why is it that you never even got interested in the slightest with anyone who came across interested with you? 

You smirked at that. “What would you know about my type now?”

“What is it then?”

Before you could reply, your name got called away, and you stepped away from him before saying, “Just wait and see, Dr. Abbot.”

| two

It was unusually cold tonight in the ER, and the city was raining for the entire day. Hell, the weather even got everyone who always swore by iced coffee switching it up to hot ones now.

Jack was glad for the weather, it meant that fewer people would come to the ER unless it was something like life-threatening injuries or one requiring immediate treatment.

A small part of him deep down also likes nights like this because it usually meant he got to spend more small moments with you. Not that he would ever admit it out loud sober.

Tonight, it seems fate has a different plan. It's been two hours into the shift, and he hasn't even said hi to you. He noticed that you keep moving around, busying yourself with everything.

Jack was charting on his station, looking up once in a while, looking at you talking to patients, when Shen approached him. Seeing this as his moment to ask about you, he cut to the chase.

“What's going on with her?” He nodded to your figure.

“Was gonna talk to you about it.”

Hearing that, Jack straightened up and looked at Shen, urging him to continue.

“This cold bothers you?” Shen started.

“You came to me to ask ‘bout the fuckin weather?”

“2 hours no contact and it’s grumpy Abbot today, huh?”

“No. And no.” He answered, not liking what Shen was trying to insinuate at him.

“You got a jacket lying around?”

“In my locker. What for?”

“She won't admit it, but she's cold as hell. Been moving around like she got the fuckin zoomies to manage it” he explained.

“Where's her jacket?” Jack asked, since he knew you always brought your jacket every day.

“We ran late today. Was gonna give me my jacket, but why should I when you're here,”

“What do you mean?” Jack knew what he meant, but he'd have to be held at gunpoint to admit it.

“Jacket. Give. To. Her. Okay?.” Shen mockingly said, emphasizing every word he said, miming an act of giving a Jacket and pointing to your figure. 

“Yeah, okay.” He mutters under his breath just loud enough.

Before he left his station, he called for Shen again.

“Thanks for telling me.”

Shen laughed at him and waved his hand dismissively.

Jack decided to walk over to you and intervene before you even move to another bed again.

“Come with me.” He touched your exposed elbow to gain your attention, now finally close enough to see goosebumps from the cold.

“Okay. Yeah.” You nodded at him

He leads both of you to the lockers, you following him on his side.

He stopped in front of his locker, pressing his code on the keypad, and opened the door.

You were dead curious about what stuff he had in his locker, that you forgot to ask yourself why he brought you here. So you tiptoed to get a good look inside his locker over his shoulder.

Realizing this, Jack chuckled and stepped away from his locker and let you get a good look inside. “Hope you're not expecting anything.”

His locker is filled with things you could expect: a toiletries pouch, a black t-shirt, a cargo, and a jacket. All neatly placed inside. Seeing that you already got a good look inside, he reached over his locker, extended his arm in front of you, and snatched his jacket.

You looked at him curiously, wondering where this going, why is Jack bringing you here, is he just flaunting that he got a jacket??

He handed his jacket over to you. “Wear it. Before you replaced the Iceman in X-Men” you smiled at his reference and took his jacket in your hand, softly saying thanks out of habit to him, undoing the zipper.

“You finally watched it?” You said as you started to put your arms in the sleeves.

“I liked cyclops,” he shrugged, taking in your figure in his jacket. The jacket fit perfectly. Like it was meant to be worn by you only. His stomach churned because that Jacket was, in all seriousness, his favorite jacket, and seeing you in it might just made his entire day. 

“’ Course you liked the simp,” you commented, receiving a ‘hey’ from him.

You snuggled into his jacket and frowned. “Smells like Tide Pods”

“You know I do wash my clothes, right?”

“You got your cologne there?” You asked him, pointing at his locker with your chin.

“That pouch,” he nodded and pointed at his toiletries pouch.

He was going to ask a follow-up question when you reached inside his locker and took out his pouch, unzipped it, and rummaged through it. So he decided that watching you was better than asking you.

You seemed to have found his cologne when you pushed the pouch into his hand, urging him to hold on to it, and sprayed his cologne on his jacket.

Thank god I wasn't lured by those apple watches. Would've given me notifications on irregular heartbeat by now.

You took the pouch, put his cologne inside, zipped it, put it back inside his locker, and rubbed your nose on the jacket to smell it again.

Jack couldn't form a proper sentence—the best he can do is croak out a “why?”

You shrugged as if it was no big deal—it was, you were just good at schooling your expressions.

“You smelled nice. I don't want to wear your jacket if it doesn't smell like you.”

Fuck

“5578? You should've closed your hand over the keypad before punching it in. Now I’m gonna steal your cologne when you're not looking,” you thought that your earlier statement was too bold. So you tried to change the topic.

“Be my guest.” He challenged.

You walked past him, saying, “I will, Jack, I will,” and muttered a thank you once again, but fell on deaf ears as his tactile, visual, and olfactory senses were overwhelmed by you in his jacket, smelling like him, patting at his shoulder.

| three

Jack arrived in ED 15 minutes before his shift change that night. He did the usual— putting his bag down, greeting Dana, and asking her where he could find Robby. Dana answered that he was in the break room, with Shen last time she saw Robby.

He entered the room, finding eye contact with Robby, who was sitting at the table with Shen, eating donuts. Both of them muffled a ‘hey’ to him, pushing the leftover donut in the box to him.

He muttered a ‘no thanks’ and went to the coffee machine to nurse himself a glass before perching himself on the edge of the counter.

Shen spoke up first. “It's her day off”.

Jack, who was sipping on his coffee, stopped mid-motion and searched for Robby’s eyes, who, as it turns out, is smiling smugly at him.

“So?” He replied coyly.

“Just a heads up, though I don’t recall John saying a name,” Robby replied.

Shen muttered something under his breath—just enough to be heard. “He's gonna be insufferable tonight.”

Robby laughed, “Best of luck to you, John.”

“Aren’t you two sweet now?” Jack grumbled to nobody in the room. 

Deciding that it was time to torture Jack further, Robby asked Shen in a tone Jack knew all too well. “How’s your girl?”

Shen smiled at him, even from behind, Jack could see him breathing out a sigh of contentment every time someone brought his girl up. 

“She’s doing great, kept asking me to find Y/n a guy so we can double date, I mean it’s not even my problem, whoever she’s got her eyes on doesn’t have the balls. She got me a girl for God's sake, why can’t she find herself a guy?” He shrugged and twisted his head to look at Jack. “Abbot, you gonna eat this or can I claim it?”.

Jack hated where this conversation was going – not that he was actively joining, he was already mulling over the idea of surviving this shift without having something to look forward to. Though he couldn’t ignore the pang of fear when Shen looked over at him, he felt like a kid getting caught stealing by their parents at that moment. 

“Go ahead,” hearing thi,s Shen muttered a ‘nice’ and reached over, taking another donut which was probably rationed for Jack. 

He was munching on his donut when he started again, eyes looking back at Robby. “You know I asked her out after 3 months liking her, one hint from Y/n and I was like, you know what? Fuck it. Thank god she was right.” 

“3 months? Didn’t peg you for someone to wait that long.” Robby mused back. 

“Exactly, man, I was miserable for three months. Can’t imagine pining for someone for 4 years and not making a move. Owe it to y/n though, if she didn’t make that hint, I would’ve been still single and miserable.” Shen was fucking with him. He was sure of it. Because he realized it long time ago that Shen has been hinting at him about you. From always giving a heads up on where you are, to giving hints about you that he didn’t ask for himself. And he was glad, in a sense, he could know more about you, but now that Shen has sussed him out that he is indeed screwed over, he kept on hinting to him. 

And Robby? He laughed, knowing where this was headed. He looked over to Jack, who stood still, perched on the edge, unmoving, pretending to enjoy his cup of coffee – but he knew Jack, Jack was listening intently to Shen, and that the coffee was not so good that you could enjoy it. So he decided to join in more. 

“Hey, maybe some guys just like playing the long game.” 

“Yeah, way too long of a game, more like. What if the girl’s starting to lose hope and decides that you’re not worth it anymore, huh?” Shen was so fed up with whatever is going on with Jack and you that he was dropping hints like flies.

The thing was, you never explicitly told him who it was, but Shen knew you too well – he knew what your type was, knew when you were serious about someone you’d dated or not, and he knew that a certain Jack Abbot was checking every box in your mental list. 

Shen was reminiscing about a certain memory now, both of you were 4 years younger, fresh out of med school, stepping for the very first time on this exact floor. He remembered you talking his ear off in the car, worrying about your attending. Scared that your attending will be a close-minded drill sergeant. Your words, not his. 

He remembered the two of you introducing yourselves to Robby and hearing happy squeals from you because “thank god he's nice,” only for Robby to say that he is not your attending. But when the two of you finally got introduced to your attending, Shen elbows you and leaned over, whispering “oh you’re definitely fucked now, Wishing on that drill sergeant now huh”. He would’ve continued teasing you if it weren’t for Abbot’s “you two hear me now, kid?” cutting the joke train he’s been holding on forever. 

“Well, I'm going to pee now.” He said, pushing his chair while standing up from the chair. He turned his back, pointing at Jack with his finger. “Hope that didn’t go over your head.” he walked away, leaving two men – one smirking his ass off and one suddenly interested in contemplating his life choices. 

Robby was going to say something when Jack cut him off. “What the hell did you say to Shen man?” He was irritated now. Robby lifts his hands in a mock surrender at him. 

“Didn’t say anything, man. You do realize that your girl’s close with him, right?” he tried to reason. 

“I only confide in you man, now Shen’s as bad as you in fuckin with me over it” 

“Well, if it's any consolation, maybe she talked to Shen about you?” Robby was trying to get his point across now. “And listen to Shen, he just told you that she’s starting to believe that you don’t feel the same.” 

“How do you even know that she’s talking about me, huh?” 

“Jack, as much as I love you brother, I gotta say this, you’re fucking stupid in this case for your own good.” Robby stands up, walking closer to Jack, pointing his finger at his shoulder, and says, “Just tell her. For everyone’s sake here, okay?” and that big betting money I put on you to say it to her first. Robby would’ve said. 

He left the room, leaving Jack still perched as the last 5 minutes, unmoving, and deep in thought. 

| four

Jack was on his way to see the improvement of the kid currently held in Trauma 2 when his stride was stopped by Jeremy, the new intern. “Hey, Dr. Abbot, can I have a minute?”

“Yeah, what is it?” he said curtly. 

“Got multiple lacerations and a fracture. I was supposed to be with Dr. Ellis, but she is currently overseeing other patients, so if you can assist me, maybe. If you got a minute, of course.” Jeremy, like any other person who worked under Jack for the first time, is always timid every time he talks to him. Something Jack is not proud of, actually, he’s a gruff man, sure, but scary? One conversation with him and everyone would realize that he is a yapper himself. 

“I gotta go check the drowning case earlier for a sec, you can ask Dr. L/n or Dr. Shen, I saw them charting earlier,” he explained to him. 

Jeremy nods, “Oh okay, I’ll ask one of them. Thank you, Dr. Abbot.” Before he can move, however, Shen walks over to Jack and asks him about the seizing patient he was assigned to. Jack sighs, looks over to Jeremy, and says, “Guess Dr. L/n is with you,” before he walks with Shen to Trauma 1. 

After a few trips in between cases with Shen, Jack finds himself and Shen in front of the nurse's station, telling Bridget that some of the beds are okay to be discharged when Shen asks. “Hey, Bridget, who’s in South 12?”. Jack steps a few steps backwards to search the board, his eyes scanning over it. 

South 10

South 11

South 12, - multiple lacerations, fracture. 

“Y/n is. With the new kid.” Jack answered him. “Holy shit.” realizing that Jack and Bridget are looking at him waiting he continues “sorry, it’s just I know the guy, Aaron, he’s her ex.” 

“Damn, he’s cute,” Bridget says pointedly. Though she was telling the truth, she also wanted to see how Jack would react. 

Jack felt weird in his stomach. For the first time in forever, he felt green. Like something was eating him alive. he was your man for some times in your life. He gets to spend mornings with you. He got to date you. He gets to call you- his thought was cut off by Shen saying that he’s going to go over there to say hi. 

“Between you and me, that kid got no chance of ever getting her back,” Bridget says. Jack huffs and says that he’s going to go see who can move to free up some beds, looking more sour as the second passes. 

Jack promised himself that he wouldn’t care about what’s going on behind the South 12 curtain, but somehow his feet have a mind of their own because now, he finds himself in South 11, not necessarily doing anything, and he was suddenly interested in the sleeping form of the patient occupying the bed though his ears were trained on the next curtain. 

“Okay, you’re done for now. Just gotta wait for ortho to be cleared so you can go upstairs,” he hears your voice, characteristically soft. Followed by Jeremy’s voice saying goodbye, and a curtain being opened. 

“Thanks, seriously, didn’t know you both worked here,” he hears an unfamiliar voice. 

“No problem, man. Thanks for letting that kid work on you.” Shen replied then with a familiarity. 

“Nah, with y/n watching him like a hawk, I’ll trust him with my life.” Aaron, albeit high from the pain meds registered to him still talked with a lilt to his voice.

Realizing that you’re done with Aaron, you excused yourself, “Well, I’m going now. Shen, you wanna-” your voice was cut off by Aaron’s hand shooting up, catching your wrist, “Actually, can we talk for a bit?” 

Jack clenched his jaw, he didn’t like where this was going. 

“Ookay, I’ll leave you both to it,” Shen speaks up, opening the curtain. Earning a glare from you. 

“What is it now?” you start, your eyes darting everywhere, only to find Jack’s familiar boots in the next bed, giving you comfort you didn’t know you needed. 

“I’m sorry, okay? All these years, I kept on wondering where we went wrong.” You sigh, “Aaron, what went wrong was… everything, and between you and me, parting ways was the best. We've got to focus on ourselves, and it worked. Besides, we were young back then, we didn’t know any better.” 

“You could’ve replied to my texts. You owe me that, at least.” 

“Last I recall, we have nothing going on anymore-” Aaron cuts you to it. “You’ve found someone. That’s why you’ve been ignoring my texts, why you can pretend that what we had back then was nothing.” 

“Being together was a mistake, Aar, we both know that.” You try to reason with him. Not wanting to give his opinion as an answer, because honestly, you didn’t even know whether you had a chance with the man who has your heart or not.

Jack realized that he wasn’t supposed to hear any further, he felt like shit now that he’s heard something very personal. So he decided to leave. 

You look at Jack’s boot leaving and suddenly feel less comfortable now that you are alone with your ex. 

Jack finds himself in the ambulance bay, his feelings brewing in his stomach as firm as ever. He was feeling everything all at once now – guilt, jealousy, and most prominently, yearning. 

“He made a mistake, a big one, she’s been holding off dating because she knows no one is ever gonna replace you, sure as hell not gonna come back to him.” He doesn’t realize that Shen was behind him until his words sink in. 

“I don’t even know what to say to her, how are you even so sure that she feels what I feel?” For once, Jack listened to his heart and asked Shen the big question he’s been itching to know for the longest time. 

“Look, I know her, okay? I know she never explicitly told me that it was you, but I know that whatever it is you’re feeling, she feels the same.” Shen never speaks to him in such a manner; he realizes it was almost comforting to him. 

Jack doesn’t have an answer to that, so he stayed silent. Hoping an ambulance would come in – just to take his mind off of things he’s been thinking. Shen understands him, he doesn’t expect an answer from Jack, so they both stay silent. 

+1

Jack woke up on his day off with a call from you, not that he knew it was you who called him that morning. He was awake on the second ring, annoyed but still reaching for his phone on the nightstand to check the caller ID. Upon realizing that it was you who called, he shot up from his position and mentally prepared himself for your voice.

“Jack, are u up?”

He knows that you have seen better days— your voice is strained, tired, and almost giving up.

“Hey, yeah, I’m up now. What's wrong?”

He hears your chuckles and he realizes that this is a good way to wake up.

“Nothing’s wrong, listen- do you wanna maybe get some breakfast with me? Oh wait, you just woke up, never mind, I’ll-”

“I would love to. where are you thinking? I’ll come and get you from the hospital” He cuts you off. Scared that you've decided that he shouldn't go out.

“The diner near your place, I’m walking there currently. I’ll order your usual.”

The diner was a one-time occurrence, after both of you worked the day shift, and with two cans of beer in his system, you offered to drive him with a waffle as a bribe on the way home.

Before he can ask why you were walking alone in the cold, you cut off the call, leaving him practically jumping from his bed to brush his teeth and change his clothes.

Jack was walking to the front door of the diner when he saw you from the glass window, sitting in one booth, head tilted backward, and arms crossed with two coffee mugs and a plate of waffles on the table. His heart stopped the moment he realized that you were wearing his jacket—the one you keep on telling him you were planning to give back, but it never seemed to land on his locker ever again.

He walked to the booth, muttering your name, and he must have looked like he just woke up because you smiled— that loopy smile that always leaves him frozen. “Good morning. You definitely raised the standards for ‘I just woke up’ look”.

“Well, aren’t you cozy in that jacket?” He jested, “Always wear this one if you’re not working.” You replied with a small smile, looking at his eye. 

He smiled bashfully and was going to sit across from you when you held his hand and said, “Sit beside me, please,” and he obeyed. He sits beside you, shoulder almost touching, when you put your head on his shoulder. He went stiff for a while, before slightly leaning his position backward so you could be more comfortable.

“I'll give you this jacket back,” you speak first, your voice slightly muffled by his shoulder. he laughed, and moving his head slightly to the left to press a kiss on your hairline. You took it as a chance to put your arms around his waist, snuggling into him further as he put his arm around you, rubbing it in a soothing motion.

“Keep it.” You kissed his shoulder, the intimacy of this moment isn't lost on him, to ground himself, he decided to lift his mug and carefully take a sip of his coffee with his free hand.

“You want to talk about it?” He started, earning a simple nod against his arm and listening attentively on you talking about the shitty shift you just had—one where you lost a boy, and having to talk to his girlfriend who cried on you saying how she never got the chance to tell him she love him was just too much for you. So you made up your mind that moment to tell Jack as soon as you can.

“Jack.” You called out to him, and he hummed at you, hands still moving up and down your back. You continued. “You know I love you, right?.” His hand stopped at that, and you straightened up, hands falling on his thigh, looking at his eyes now.

He couldn't say anything— his heart beating too hard for his liking, his mind went blank, he was sure he'd never felt peace and adrenaline at the same time.

So he looked down, seeing your hands on his thigh, taking it on his own and lifting it to his lips to press a kiss on it.

He breathed deeply. “Fuck. I love you so much, I don't think it's healthy.” His voice was still breathy, from the adrenaline or the fact that he just woke up 10 minutes ago, he never knew.

“Good. 'Means I got custody of this jacket and its owner now” going back to the same comfortable position you were in earlier, and he laughed softly, with a crooked smile, he whispers, “You already have my heart, You can have any of my jackets, honey.”

“But you have to eat first, and after that you can raid my closet and take anything you want, okay?”

“Will you kiss me now?”

He leaned in and kissed you softly—not a hurried kiss, not even a hungry one, it was a genuine soft kiss with years of yearning over each other, pining over one another with nothing but pure love. He kissed you like he meant it, like how you are meant to be kissed—with nothing but love.

The next day, you weren’t even walking together to the ER, but somehow, everybody knew. Robby was talking with Shen, Dana with Bridget, when you joined in to greet everyone, followed by Jack, who put his bag on his station, not even acknowledging the gossip circle.

You were going to say something when Shen beats you to it, “shhhhh before you say anything, who said it first?” Now this caught Jack's attention, who joined in with a smirk on his face. 

“She did,” Jack said with a smile. Looking at you now. Dana and Bridget were high-fiving with a ‘yes’. While Robby and Shen quietly muttered a ‘fuck’.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck, I was so close to that 300,” Shen said exasperatedly. Rubbing his face. 

“What the fuck, you bet on me John?” you asked him. 

“Eh, we all did. Though I technically bet against you.” 

You turned to Robby, “You?” he shakes his head and juts his chin out to Jack beside you. 

“Before you ask, we both bet that you would be the first to say it,” Dana said cheerfully, thinking of ways she’s going to spend the money. 

Shen looks over to Jack before saying, “what the fuck, man. I even gave you hints.” Jack only shrugged his shoulders, “Sorry, man, I wasn’t even expecting it.” 

“That’s what you get for playing dirty, John.” Dana shoved his shoulder. 

“Told you the girl’s fierce. Never underestimate a woman in love.” Bridget commented on Shen and Robby. 

Jack nudged your shoulder, looking at you, smiling fondly before saying, “Yeah, my girl’s fierce.” 

Your face turned red at that comment. “Though, you deserve to lose that you got so little faith in me you fucker.” You pointed at Shen. who replied with a “whatever”.

Shen walked over to Jack and put his hand on his shoulder, “Thank you for lightening my burden, now she’s your burden.” you mock hurt at the comment, though the smile on your face says otherwise. 

“Gladly. Though you gotta walk me step by step later.” Jack nudged your shoulder once more, you shoved him back as retaliation, “Hey! I’m not the one eavesdropping when I’m talking to my ex.” 

Jack was frozen, his ears burning red, when everybody laughed at him. 

“While Jack could’ve given me the win, I’m happy for you both, truly,” Robby said earnestly. 

Jack leans down, whispering to you, “You should tell Shen he’s not gonna get free coffee anymore now that you’re driving with me.” You whispered back to him, “Nah, he’s a big boy, he’ll understand.” 

Your whispers were responded to with sighs and grunts from the others, who decided to leave both of you alone. With Dana walking away, smiling hard, and says, “Keep it PG now, you two.”

You both smiled at each other before parting ways. You turned over to look at him from a distance and mouthed ‘I love you,’ and Jack, who meets your eyes with his stare – now softer than ever – mouthed back ‘love you more.’. 

And that was enough, for now. 

[reignpage]

❀ In which your milk ducts are clogged and husband!Nanami is more than willing to help 

It’s just to help feed the baby, he says. It’s his duty, he says. He can't stand seeing you wince, struggling to feed, grappling with this side of parenthood all by yourself.  

And that’s all well and good, but it doesn’t really explain why his glossy eyes are rolling back as he suckles on one of your leaking breasts. Glasses carelessly thrown on the bedside table, hair all mussed up, and shirt wrinkled, the Kento cradled on your chest is one you rarely see. He seems driven by some kind of madness and simultaneously, the most in-control he's ever been.

Firm hands grope and squeeze mercilessly, applying circular motions that steal your breath. His calloused fingers tickle the sensitive skin, eliciting shivers shudders and whimpers out of you.

“Ken,” you whine, “you’re suckling too -hah- hard.”

A growl rips through the air when you attempt to squirm out of his hold. “The baby, h-honey. Think about the baby. She needs her mommy ready to go, doesn’t she?”

“But she’s already sleeping.”

He lets out a proud sigh. “She’s such a well-behaved little thing, isn’t she? She got it from you. My girls, so good to me, always so good.”

Pinned to the bed by his firm, muscular body, you can do nothing against the onslaught of sloppy smooches slobbering all over your tits. Sticky milk dribbles out but doesn’t drip too far before his greedy lips slurrrrps! up your sweet essence. 

“You taste so d-delicious, sweetheart, God, I can’t get enough of you.”

Rutting in between your quivering legs, his clothed cock, hard and throbbing, rubs just right against your pussy. Kento doesn’t even realise he’s grinding into you, that your pussy has long grown sloppy and messy under your panties, and that you’ve already orgasmed three times since he’s made it his personal mission to ease your aches.

“Ken! It’s too much, my nipples are too -ngh!- sensitive.”

Shushing you, he presses your breasts together so he can wrap his glossy lips around both nipples at the same time. “It’s alright, my love. You can take it. Just a little more, okay? Just a little more for Kento.”

“You have to s-stop soon.” It's been hours, the clog's long gone, but your husband shows no sign of stopping. You're not even sure he remembers why you're in this position to begin with. 

Obscene sounds reverberate around the room, dizzying you beyond sanity. Wet, sticky, and delirious, you’re helpless against the lapping of his gluttonous tongue on both of your breasts, flicking the oversensitive nipples, baring them to the steam of the air between you. “Five more minutes. P-please. I’ve earned it, haven’t I?”

You nod, feverish and crazed by his ravenous appetite. 

“Oh, thank you, honey. Thank you. You’re too good to me.” 

He has earned it — your husband is so patient, so caring, and diligent. You can put up with five more minutes. That’s what you thought, at least. But when time's up, he shakes off your weak pushes and latches himself onto a poor, abused breast and begs with a mouthful.

“Five m-more minutes, sweetheart, please? Just five more. I’ll fill you up and you -hah- can milk my cock too. Kento’s being fair, isn’t he? Kento’s never let you down, right? Of course not. So, be a good girl and tend to your husband, alright? He's positively starved.”

[gyubakeries]

HtBDaSTGYM presents: Method 1 - Love Potions

test subjects: kim mingyu x f!reader

word count: 2.9k

contents: college au , friends to lovers , love potions , lowkey witchcraft , verkwan cameo , cookies as a plot device , crack treated seriously , this is just Silly , the slightest bit of angst , inspired by descendants 1

verification: Trust Me Bro

sources: thank you serena ( @gotta-winwin ) and ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) for helping me finish this fic with your motivation + inspiration 🩷

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seungkwan, focused on his assignment due in four hours, startles in his seat when you plop down onto the chair next to him, a guttural groan leaving your lips. he’s pretty sure the librarian shoots a dirty glance in your direction, followed by passive aggressive motions towards the bold ‘keep quiet’ sign in the library.

“what did kim mingyu do this time?” seungkwan sighs, voice dropping to a whisper. you slam your head on the table, immediately cursing and rubbing your forehead at the impact.

“he’s being too nice,” you whine. “it would be so much easier if he was a mean asshole who wasn’t the literal human embodiment of a golden retriever!”

“so this is wh​​at first world problems sound like,” seungkwan mutters. he then puts his pen down to turn his body and face your figure, currently slumped over the table in defeat. “look, if his existence bothers you that much, stop being around him!”

“it’s not a bother,” you click your tongue. “it’s annoying because i like him so much and can’t do anything about it.”

“why not?”

“seungkwan, have you looked at me?” you deadpan. “mingyu is way out of my league. there’s no way he’d like someone like me.”

“then make him like you,” seungkwan shrugs.

“and how do you suggest i do that, genius?” you roll your eyes and scoff.

seungkwan simply smiles in response and clasps his hands together. you only have a few moments to feel extremely terrified before seungkwan says, “let dr. boo teach you how to.”

“this feels like a scam.”

“please don’t hurt my ego.”

“.... alright.”

—

for seungkwan’s ‘masterclass’, he drags you out of the library, assignment forgotten, and into his dorm room. his roommate, hansol, doesn’t even spare a glance at seungkwan’s strange antics, as if he’s seen this play out multiple times before.

seungkwan takes you into his room and instructs you to sit down in the middle of his bed.

“okay, enlighten me,” you look up at seungkwan expectantly.

“the most fool-proof method of getting your crush to like you back, pause for dramatic effect,”seungkwan mutters under his breath before continuing, “is by making a love potion.”

there’s silence for a few moments, only to be interrupted by hansol loudly munching on chips while leaning against the doorframe. you raise an eyebrow at him, and all he says is, “watching seungkwan be delusional is my favorite hobby.”

“i’m not being delusional!” seungkwan argues. “my methods are tried and tested.”

“yeah, right,” you snicker. “who exactly has tested your methods?”

“i have!” seungkwan says with pride. “the love potion is real. ask hansol.”

“hey man, don’t turn this on me,” hansol raises his arms in defense. “i haven’t been given any potion.”

“remember that one week when you begged me to bake you cookies every day?” seungkwan hums. “what do you think was in those?”

“no way,” hansol’s eyes are wide with surprise. “i just thought your grandmother passed down some killer cookie recipe.”

“she did,” seungkwan nods, facing you. “that’s where i got my love potion recipe from. does it sound legit enough?”

“not even close,” you shake your head. “but i’m desperate, so teach me.”

“i’ll be glad to,” seungkwan chirps, and you momentarily think to yourself, what have i gotten myself into?

—

“hey, y/n! good morning!” the familiar voice makes you whip your head back, butterflies going crazy in your stomach as mingyu walks up to you. he looks effortlessly handsome in a simple hoodie and jeans as he comes to a stop next to your locker, canines peeking through when he smiles.

“how was your weekend?” he asks, and you pray to every divine presence watching that you aren’t a blushing mess.

“oh, it was fine,” you reply. “just trying out new things.”

“like what?” mingyu asks, and somehow, the ever-present twinkle in his eye seems even brighter. you wrack your brain to come up with any answer that won’t give away exactly what you’ve been doing over the weekend.

“a new recipe,” you finally reply. “you know, the tiktok recipes are becoming too interesting not to try.”

“but i thought you said you were terrible at cooking?” mingyu’s eyebrows furrow, and you mentally kick yourself for your flimsy lie. making seungkwan’s love potion-infused cookies hadn’t been easy, given your lack of basic cooking skills, but you had managed to scrape together a batch of cookies that were edible, not burnt, and baked all the way through.

“i had some help,” you smile. hoping that you sounded convincing enough.

“so, what’d you make?” mingyu asks, and you nearly sigh with relief. you had been thinking of ways to bring up the cookies in conversation, but thankfully, mingyu did all the work himself.

“i made some cookies,” you reply, and mingyu’s eyes light up.

“please tell me they’re choco chip,” he gasps, squealing when you nod in confirmation.

“would you wanna…. try them?” you offer hesitantly, not knowing just how much you could ask of mingyu before he got suspicious. fortunately for you, mingyu was like a giant dog whose tail starts wagging the instant he hears anything about food.

“yes! i’d love to try some,” he nods eagerly, and you couldn’t be any quicker in pulling out the box of cookies from your bag. mingyu watches closely as you open the lid, the smell of warm, fresh cookies filling the air. he doesn’t hesitate to reach into the box and grab a cookie, immediately taking a huge bite out of it.

you watch with bated breath as mingyu chews on the cookie, humming with satisfaction as his eyebrows scrunch together.

“y/n, these are heavenly,” mingyu groans. “do you mind if i take another one?”

you remember seungkwan’s instructions from earlier that week. the more cookies he eats, the stronger the effect of the potion is.

“of course! take as many as you want,” you grin, holding the box out for mingyu. he takes the box from your hands and reaches in for another one. you only watch (with heart-eyes) as mingyu finishes three cookies within five minutes.

“these are seriously so good,” mingyu sighs, closing the lid on the box. “do you think i could take the rest of these home?”

seungkwan’s voice speaks up from a corner of your brain. ‘the potion will work in your favor only if you are the first person mingyu sees after eating the cookies. you can’t let him have it anywhere else, or he’ll be in love with someone else.’

“no!” you reply, wincing at how loud your voice sounded. “i mean, i was saving some for myself too….”

you hate how quickly mingyu’s smile fades, shoulders drooping instantly as he hands the box back to you. “i see,” he says, looking dejected. “you can have these back.”

“i could make you some more!” you offer, trying to bring back the smile you loved seeing. “you can come over this weekend, and i can make you some more cookies, if you’d like.”

“really?” mingyu asks. “i won’t be too much of a bother?”

“you’re never a bother to me,” you say, and you hope that mingyu can tell that you really meant the words.

“awesome! i’ll see you on saturday,” mingyu grins. “i have to get to class now, but text me what time works for you, yeah?”

you frown. seungkwan had mentioned that the potion takes a couple of minutes to work, but mingyu’s behaviour was still normal.

“sure! but, uh, do you have anything you want to tell me?” you question, wringing your hands together with nervousness. mingyu stays silent for a while, his eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you think that the potion really has worked, but the only answer that leaves his lips is: “great cookies! you’ve underestimated your cooking skills.”

as mingyu walks away to get to his class, it’s your turn to feel dejected as you think, why on earth did the cookies not work?

—

“something probably went wrong in the baking process,” seungkwan assures you over the phone, later that week, two hours before mingyu was scheduled to come over to your apartment.

“you told me your recipe was easy! what could’ve gone wrong?” you throw your hands up, frustrated.

“maybe ask yourself that,” seungkwan rolls his eyes. “my recipe is perfect, maybe consider that you did something wrong?”

you sigh. you did end up doing something wrong with five batches of cookies before the last batch had turned out good, so it wasn’t too unbelievable of a proposition.

“fine, then at least tell me what i should do now,” you plead. “this is probably my last chance to make this work, and i can’t screw it up.”

“don’t worry, i’ve got you,” seungkwan comforts you. “get the ingredients ready, i’ll guide you through every step.”

an hour later, the cookies were baking away in the oven as seungkwan busied himself with doing karaoke in his room, and you cleaned up the kitchen. the bottles of ‘magical’ ingredients seungkwan had given you, labelled unicorn vanilla essence, fairy chocolate chips, and pixie cocoa powder, were now empty, so you sweep them into the trash. the names did sound a little sketchy, but you’d rather stay silent than question seungkwan’s credibility.

“are you sure it’s gonna work this time?” you ask seungkwan, and he shoots you a glare before moving to pause his music.

“y/n, there’s absolutely nothing that could go wrong,” seungkwan says. “i guided you through the entire thing. now, just trust the process and let the magic do its thing.”

“okay, got it,” you nod. just then, the oven timer rings, and you hurry to grab your mittens to take the tray out of the oven. you carry the tray over to the cooling rack on your kitchen counter, the smell of cookies wafting through your apartment, when your doorbell rings.

“wait here, kwan, i’ll go check who’s at the door,” you tell your friend before hanging up and heading over to the front door, mittens still on your hands. you open the door, and then your jaw drops.

“mingyu?”

“hi!” mingyu chirps. he looks good; good enough to make your brain short-circuit when he smiles at you. you’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes you a while to realize that he’s also holding out a bouquet of flowers for you.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” mingyu cuts you off. “you’re making me cookies, and i felt bad for showing up empty-handed, so i got you these flowers. you said you liked tulips, right?”

you blush instantly, smiling bashfully as you take the bouquet of tulips from mingyu. “i love them, thank you. please, come in.”

mingyu trails behind you as you lead him into the apartment. you mentally kick yourself when you see a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch, immediately going over to fold it to make your living room look more presentable. “excuse the mess, i wasn’t expecting you for…. another hour.”

it’s mingyu’s turn to look flustered as he scratches the back of his neck. “i’m sorry for showing up this early— i was excited to meet you.” when he sees your eyes go wide at his words, he quickly adds on, “and the cookies. i was really excited to meet the cookies and eat you! oh. i mean—“

“it’s alright!” you cut him off, saving him the awkwardness. “why don’t you take a seat? i’ll bring the cookies out.”

mingyu merely nods, his cheeks just as red as you imagine yours to be.

he’s probably just embarrassed, because there’s no way he likes me. the love potion didn’t even work on him! you grapple with your reasoning for some more time before settling on a version that made sense. a version that, unfortunately, didn’t involve mingyu feeling the same way you did.

ignoring the urge to cry, you head into the kitchen to pile the fresh cookies onto a plate. while you’re focused on arranging them in a pretty way, you fail to realize when mingyu enters the kitchen.

“they smell so good,” mingyu says, right next to your ear, and you can’t help but startle. mingyu smiles sheepishly, moving away from you to keep a comfortable distance between both of you.

“sorry, i keep surprising you,” mingyu apologises. “i only came into the kitchen to see if you needed any help.”

“don’t worry, you’re good,” you assure him quickly. you don’t even care about the sudden jumpscares mingyu has been giving you, not when the excitement and nervousness rising from your love potion-cookies overwhelms every other feeling.

not being able to hold back any longer, you grab the plate of cookies from the counter and slide them over to mingyu. “you can make it up to me by having these cookies.”

mingyu’s smile becomes even brighter, something you never thought was possible, as he reaches for a cookie. he doesn’t even hesitate to bite into it, and for a moment, you feel guilty for feeding him a potion without his knowledge.

“they’re even better today!” mingyu’s gasp of contentment interrupts your thoughts. “they’re fresh, warm, and the perfect amount of chewy,” he continues, raving on and on about how the ‘sea salt enhances the chocolate perfectly’ like some cookie connoisseur.

on a normal day, your chest would be swelling with pride at how mingyu, a die-hard foodie, complimented your food, but you had the love potion to worry about.

impatient and curious, you make your first mistake by blurting out: “is it working?”

at the confused expression mingyu shoots you, you can only bite your tongue at the wrong choice of words.

and then, your second mistake:

“i meant, i—uh, used some new ingredients for these cookies,” you quickly add to cover up your lie. “i just wanted to check if they were able to—”

“—make the love potion you put in these cookies?” mingyu raises an eyebrow, and your jaw drops. your heart is soon to follow when you see mingyu’s smile morph into something upset and betrayed.

“how did—how did you know?” you ask, wringing your hands together.

“y/n, there’s literally an instruction booklet in front of you that says, ‘love potion-cookies,’” mingyu sighs. “it’s pretty obvious.”

horrified, you stare at the recipe laid out in front of you. there was no way you could save yourself now. so, you decide to own up to your actions.

“mingyu, look—”

“i knew your plan,” mingyu stops you. “i knew it the day you first gave me the cookies.”

“h-how?”

“people have used it on me many times,” mingyu admits, sounding annoyed. “what sucked was that i used to fall ‘in love’ with them momentarily. even though it’d wear off in a few hours, it wasn’t the best feeling.”

“but how could you tell that—that my cookies had the potion?” you ask him, wondering why on earth mingyu would agree to eat cookies laced with potential magic ingredients.

“i’ll be honest, seungkwan’s recipe is a bit different, so i couldn’t tell at first. i only recognized the flavor of unicorn vanilla essence after the second cookie, and i knew.” mingyu reveals.

“but why didn’t it work on you?” you’re more frustrated than confused. if you did everything right both times, why hadn’t it worked on mingyu? “is it really so impossible for us to be together that not even borderline witchcraft can help me?”

“y/n—”

“this was my last resort, because i was so tired of pining after you for months and still being seen as a friend by you—”

“listen to me—”

“maybe i was never destined to even find love, because whose luck is this bad—” this time your rant is cut off by mingyu’s hands cupping your face and his lips meeting yours.

for approximately three seconds, your body freezes. you wish you could move, kiss him back, do something, but you can’t be blamed for taking a few extra seconds to process that you’re being kissed by someone you’ve liked for almost two years.

when your brain finally starts working again, you lean in closer to mingyu, placing your hands on his shoulders for some leverage as you balance on your toes to kiss him back properly.

mingyu is the first to pull away, and he even leaves a soft peck on the tip of your nose. his hands move from your face to your waist, and you allow yourself to be hugged close to him.

“the potion doesn’t work on me because i already like you back,” mingyu explains, and a heavy weight lifts off your chest. “i was too scared to confess to you, so i was kinda glad that you tried to make some move.”

“wait, so— how long have you felt this way?” you question, feeling like an idiot who can’t stop smiling.

“ever since we got paired up in the cooking contest at the college fair,” mingyu chuckles, and your eyes widen at that memory.

“oh god. that’s so embarrassing,” you complain, leaning forward to rest your head on mingyu’s chest and hide your face from him.

“hey, seeing you cry before you got to cutting the onions was hilarious!” mingyu adds on in a teasing tone, and you playfully punch his arm.

“it stung my eyes real bad! you had to be there to know,” you defend yourself, to which mingyu replies, “i was there. it really wasn’t that bad.”

“are you trying to get me to lose feelings for you right after i confessed?” you pout, and mingyu simply laughs before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“okay, let’s never bring that day up again,” he says, and you nod in agreement.

“do you think you could make me some more cookies, though? like, at least once a week.”

“are you insane? i’m never going near an oven ever again. you are the chef in this relationship.”

“it was worth a try, i guess.”

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[bumblebecc]

the one where trinity santos knows that frank is using again, except he isn’t

Trinity knows something is up with Frank Langdon. She just does.

It starts when she walks in on a Monday with a truly horrific looking board. A massive carpile up handled by the nightshift has set them all back and tied up Ortho for the day. Good luck, all broken bones and potential amputations walking into the waiting room. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Dana look frazzled (apart from PittFest, but she tries not to think about that day too much. She puts it all in the Do Not Touch box that lives in the back of her brain). Robby is extra prickly because Gloria keeps popping up and jumpscaring everyone. Perlah’s daughter is turning ten next week and she’s making it a bigger deal than it needs to be (in Trinity’s opinion), so the normally restrained camp of Perlah and Princess is also stressed.

And Frank comes in basically skipping past the waiting room and freaking everyone out.

“Why all the glum faces?” Trinity hears him ask Collins.

“Have you even looked at the board today? It’s like Hell opened up overnight.”

“Never took you for a theater kid.” Trinity spares a look and sees Langdon languidly leaning on the nurse’s station. “So much drama. Nah, we’ll get this straightened up. Hey, look, you take South 15, he’s been here awhile. I’ll handle the rash and fever in North 5. We’ll get these beds opened up in no time.”

“Could’ve sworn you would’ve gone for the potential hernia.”

“Hernia, shmernia. McKay can have that one. C’mon, new attending. We have a waiting room to empty.”

Trinity sits up.

“You’re… optimistic today,” says Collins slowly.

“Ah, you know what they say.” Langdon smirks, snagging a pair of gloves as he leaves. “A cynic has to be an optimist at least some of the time.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Heather calls after him.

And Trinity would just chock that little interaction up to Langdon just being his normal brand of obnoxious if she hadn’t overheard Princess and Perlah in the breakroom.

“He smiled at me and told me to have a good day,” says Princess, audibly bewildered. “Has he ever done that to you?”

“No, but he asked me to tell Jamillah Roslyn happy birthday for her party,” says Perlah, bewildered. “I didn’t even know he knew her name.”

“Something’s up with him,” says Princess suspiciously and Trinity agrees. Parks it in her mind as she and the others steadfastly work through the onslaught of patients. Post-hysterectomy infection (and potential malpractice suit, the fucker didn’t prescribe the poor woman any antibiotics). A simple MI sent up to surgery in record time. A pulmonary contusion in an eight year old from a gnarly bumper car collision.

And then—

“Are you whistling?” Garcia asks, almost in disbelief.

“What, the patient is anesthetized,” says Langdon casually as he makes room for the ultrasound tech. “Don’t be knocking my bedside manner when the bedside isn’t awake.”

“Look,” says Garcia. “The Cure is low, even for you. At least do Bowie or Santana.”

“You would hate The Cure,” says Langdon and then whistles the first few lines of Smooth freakishly well.

“That’s more like it,” says Garcia.

“You treat me like a radio,” sighs Langdon. “Is that all I am to you?”

“Yes, especially because I am not needed here,” says Garcia. “Look at the head CT. Brain tumor. More than most likely caused the seizure. Far above my paygrade. He needs oncology and a specialized treatment plan, not emergency surgery.”

“Copy,” says Frank. “I’ll call up Blestner and get a consult.”

Garcia’s eyebrow slowly rises. “You’ll just ‘call up’ Blestner?”

“For a potentially glioneuronal mass that size?” Frank clicks his tongue. “Hell yeah I’m calling Blestner.”

“Blestner hates your guts,” interrupts Trinity. She’s too bewildered to stay quiet. “He called you a junkie and told you to put him on the phone with a real doctor last time.”

“And I went through the official channels and put in an HR complaint and everything’s been peachy since,” says Langdon, unbothered. “He loves me now.”

“Huh.” Garcia looks him over slowly. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Indubitably.” And Langdon strides out of the room, already on his pager.

“Keep an eye on him.”

Trinity looks up, surprised.

Yolanda is smiling, but there’s a tension around her mouth that Trinity recognizes from that time when she forgot to wash the pan after making eggs. The this thing is out of my control smile. “He is in a really good mood,” she says. “Which might be nothing. But it also might be something. I haven’t heard him whistle since he passed the Step 3. And that was 2021, so.”

“You don’t think—?”

“No, babe, I don’t think. I just worry.” Yolanda glances behind her, makes sure no nosy RN is looking, and presses a quick kiss to Trinity’s cheek. That was also something Trinity had to get used to. Yo’s touchyness. It’s a plus, she knows now, but there was a time she would’ve dodged away, wary. Now, she leans in.

“My worrier,” says Trinity, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah.” Yolanda Garcia backs out of the room, smiling. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And Trinity keeps a half-eye on Langdon, yeah. And maybe he’s a little too nice to Lupe, calling her a “badass” and then dapping up some random EMT after a successful code. But she’s not really concerned because she’s sure he’ll be back to his usual “I’m surrounded by idiots” self tomorrow.

Except he isn’t.

“He brought donuts,” says Mateo in the breakroom, looking like he’s seen a ghost. “And not Dunkin Donuts. Leonarda’s. The fancy shit. For Nurse Appreciation Week.”

“That’s not so weird!” Kim is sheepishly playing with her hair. “Dr. King gave me a personalized card.”

“Please call her Mel, Kim, no one calls her Dr. King and it’s lowkey a little weird that you do.” Mateo opens up one of the boxes (with gilded swirly writing on top, Trinity knows it’s bougie) and a heavenly smell envelopes them.

Donahue shakes his head. “This… this is some spooky shit.”

“Do you think this is like some NA thing?” Jesse asks. “Like, being nice to people?”

Trinity doesn’t speak, because being allowed in the nurse’s lounge is a privilege that gets easily revoked, but she thinks no fucking way to herself.

But then she kinda forgets about it because she’s pulled for Chairs. Bleh.

Flu case. Ten year old with influenza. Fifty year old with the flu. Eighteen year old with a headache and fever—influenza A. Seventy year old with—you guessed it—the flu.

“Fuck, I hate triage,” she tells the skittish med student who started last week. The name will come to her. Jessica. Jennifer. Something with a J? She’s red-haired, pretty in an effortless kind of way, and petrified of everything that moves and makes Trinity miss Whitaker, who matched into emergency medicine at Allegheny. “Don’t you want some action?”

“Huh?!” Jessica Jennifer Jayla blushes so hard, Trinity looks at her with concern. “No!! No I don’t!”

“Easy, easy,” says Trinity, undeterred. “So you like the boring ones?”

“Oh! You meant—“ the blush recedes and Jennifer Jessica Jaime clears her throat. “The cases. Yeah, uh, they’re alright. I don’t really like traumas that much.”

Trinity eyes her, slightly concerned. “Calm down, Mother Mary. I wasn’t asking you about your sex life.”

Jaime Joanna Jessica frowns. “My name is Julie.”

“Julieee,” says Trinity. “Cool. Just a joke.” And then she follows Julie’s eyesight, which is locked across the room to—Langdon, chatting with an EMT. “No way. He’s gotta be old enough to be your dad.”

“No!!” Julie is fumbling with her gloves. “He’s 33! And I’m 25!”

“You asked him his age?” Trinity says, absolutely delighted.

“He’s divorced!” says Julie. “It’s not a crime!”

“But it is definitely frowned upon. A resident and a med student, are you crazy?”

“You’re an R-2 with a new attending!” says Julie, suddenly fierce.

“Different departments, plus no one gives a shit.” Trinity could laugh. She could care less how Mother Mary knows about her and Garcia—probably a mouthy respiratory therapist or something. “Good luck with that HR violation, Julie. You should get some better taste.”

“What? He’s so nice. And hot. The day me and Yamaguchi started, he told us we’re on our way to being great doctors.” Yep, those are definitely stars in the med student’s eyes.

Langdon. Being overly nice to med students. An alarm goes off in Trinity’s brain. And she automatically says, “Yeah, he lies a lot,” and beelines straight to Robby, who is intensely charting and pretending not to notice a frequent flyer asking for a blanket (he has about five already). “Okay, is something up with Langdon?”

Robby slides his glasses down at her with intense scrutiny. “Let’s rephrase the question to something more specific, Dr. Santos.”

“He’s whistling in the ER,” says Trinity. “He’s happily doing all the shitty boring cases. He told Perlah to tell her kid happy birthday. He bought the nurses donuts for Nurse Appreciation Week. He’s being nice to med students. Med students. That’s weird.”

Robby sighs, slips off his glasses. “Maybe he’s just having a good day.”

“Try a good week.” And Trinity lowers her voice. “Look. Is it possible he’s relapsed?”

Her chief attending leans back in the chair. Clicks around on the computer for a minute. “Dr. Langdon’s drug screening results are private healthcare information that I cannot release to you, Dr. Santos. However, I can guarantee that as of this morning, Langdon is enthusiastically cleared to work in the ED.” He shoots her a look. “So whatever’s bothering you has nothing to do with his recovery. Okay? Conversation done.”

And Trinity stands there, frowning, because things aren’t clicking.

And they don’t until she bumps into Mel the next day.

“Heyyy, MelMel,” Trinity says, fresh off a Cliff bar break. “What the heck are you doing here? Isn’t today your day off?”

Mel beams, cute as ever with her hair up in two twin buns. It must be boiling outside, because she’s in little white shorts and her cheeks are pink from the sun. “Yeah, it is! But Becca and I stayed up late last night baking.” And Trinity does notice the brownie tray. “We might have gone a little overboard.”

“Ah. Baking.”

“Yes, Becca’s very into sourdough lately,” says Mel seriously. Trinity can’t help but have a soft spot for her. A tiny soft spot. “She’s been watching these TikTok videos. My kitchen is now her experiment station.”

“Ah. Your sister. Nice.” Trinity’s about to politely extricate herself from the conversation in favor of a patient when Langdon suddenly appears. And by suddenly, Trinity means he was on the other side of the room, and then he basically teleported to Mel’s side.

“Mel, what are you doing here?” He puts his hand on her shoulder like she’ll disappear otherwise. “Are you—oh! Nice shirt.”

It’s a normal shirt, light pink with a print of Hello Kitty waving. Mel smiles brightly. “Hi!! Yeah it’s—“

“Becca’s favorite,” Langdon finishes and they both laugh, even though it isn’t really funny, like it’s an inside joke. And then Langdon glances down at the tray and says, “Ah, the brownies, shit, sorry, I forgot you were going to bring those in.”

“Well, I felt bad, you got the nurses those fancy donuts and I only gave out cards.” Mel is—pouting? Not really, not in the exaggerated way Yolanda does to make Trinity give her attention, but actually genuinely. Mel’s mouth is a little downturned, her eyebrows are scrunched with mild displeasure.

“Stop, they’d take a card from you over anything from me any day,” scoffs Frank. “Donnie acted like I was trying to poison him. And I’m half fucking convinced Ramón thinks you’re an actual angel from heaven.”

“No, he doesn’t, we have a very good professional rapport,” says Mel.

“Bullshit, he likes you.” And then Frank… softens? Like all the muscles in his neck and shoulders relax and he leans down, looking at her with his weirdly intense eyes and Trinity feels like she walked in on something. And the hand, still on Mel’s shoulder, is sliding down, his long fingers curling softly around her wrist. “Maybe I can’t blame him, though.”

“Oh my god,” says Trinity and they both jump, like they forgot she was even there. “You’re getting laid. That’s why you’ve been so fucking weird all week. You’re boinking Mel.”

“Santos.”

“That’s not a very appropriate thing to say in the workplace,” says Mel, frowning. But she doesn’t deny it. Because they TOTALLY ARE.

“It all makes sense,” says Trinity in disbelief.

Like she knew they were close. Langdon gets her a hot tea from a cafe every morning (Robby always asks where his is and Langdon snarks, “The break room, hands off.”) And the way they follow each other around and bump into each other without comment. That one time Langdon handed her a hair tie when hers snapped during a procedure and her too-bright smile.

“The stupid whistling. The weirdly good mood. You bought donuts. Oh my god. Mel, you and him? For real?”

Langdon’s face is not a nice face. “Can you go one day with causing a potential HR crisis?”

“I know way hotter dudes I can hook you up with, Mel,” Trinity tells her, enjoying this way more than she should. “Like I’m not a man enjoyer, but there’s this guy from med school who all my hetero friends say is a god at eating puss—“

“Okay, enough of that,” says Langdon firmly, and his hand is on the small of Mel’s back, herding her away, and he’s scowling. But Trinity follows, she’s so delighted. Mel and Mr. Asshole? Together? That’s so gold, it’s like platinum level gossip. Princess and Perlah are going to die. “Don’t you have a patient to neglect or something?”

“Possessive much, Langdon?” Trinity waggles her eyebrows. “Or are you that shitty in bed that you’re feeling a little threatened?”

“Frank is very good at cunnilingus, Trinity,” says Mel over her shoulder and ugh, she calls him Frank? And Trinity regrets all the teasing, because she did not need to know that. Or picture that. “I’m very well satisfied, thank you.”

And Langdon is grinning, an evil smug horny grin that immediately takes the wind out of Trinity’s sails.

“I am so texting Whitaker about this.”

“Tell Dennis I said hi!” calls Mel as Langdon ushers her into the break room. Where they’ll probably make out or say lovey dovey words to each other. (Probably not. Mel is a classy lady after all).

“This hospital,” Trinity says and then rushes off to hunt down Garcia.

[humanjarvis]

call it what you want

synopsis: when you visit a gathering of childhood friends, they’re wary of you and caleb’s relationship. and while you take it in stride, he takes it to heart. 

tags: fluff, angst, heart to heart, happy ending, calebmc judged by childhood friends for their relationship, mc withstands it but caleb withdraws, barely yandere caleb, he does watch mc when they’re apart though, caleb breaks somebody’s teeth with his evol, calebmc relationship depicted as the jumbled up mess that it is, there’s not really pseudocest though, calebmc are each other’s first kiss, caleb is insecure, mc comforts the hell out of him, references to caleb’s mental illness, allusions to sex. inspired by “call it what you want” by taylor swift  pairing: caleb x fem!reader, reader is mc word count: 8.1k (woah!)

a/n: behold my thesis on the intricate siblingfriendpartnership of calebmc. it’s the best thing i’ve written and i’m so glad. but also this has ended up doubling as my 2k followers special 🎉🎉🎉 that is an unfathomable amount of people subjecting themselves to my writing and i’m seriously so grateful. thank you for motivating me to create! anyway, i truly hope you get something out of this, but even if you don’t, i’m proud of it 💞

“C’mon, pip-squeak. We can't ignore it forever. I’m here now, and I'll be right by your side. All those bad memories…you won’t have to face them alone anymore.”

“I know. And I’m glad. But still, it’s…different now,” you smile weakly, failing to suppress a heavy sigh. 

Caleb was in Linkon for the week, having put his foot down about his well-earned time off. And you, having gotten used to the constant Fleet interruptions, had gone the extra mile to make him unreachable: locking his communicator in your bedside drawer. 

After three days of making new memories—you’d ticked the movies, the zoo, and a concert off your list—his love for nostalgia had finally gotten the better of him. He’d set his sights on reminiscence, and all morning, he’d been pestering you to visit your old neighborhood. Where your childhood home had once stood.

“We can just take a look around. Five minutes, tops. Aren’t you curious about that old playset you used to drag me to? Always made me spot you under the monkey bars in case you fell. I’m sure they miss you,” he teases, hope shining in his ametrine eyes. 

And as you picture it—the iron bars of the jungle gym, now rusted with time; the grayish, well-traveled cobblestone streets; the wild honeysuckle bushes scattered around the block—you know this is a battle you can’t win. 

“Fine,” you huff. “But you’re driving.” 

“As if I’d refuse. And hey,” he softens, grabbing your arm gently. “If it’s too much, let me know. We’ll come back right away.” 

***

Your stomach roils as familiar street signs come into view.  

Green lawns and picket fences. Symbols of safety you could no longer trust. 

Humming along to an old pop hit on the radio—a valiant attempt to distract you—Caleb turns into your neighborhood, and you clench your teeth involuntarily. 

Luckily, you don’t have too much time to worry. Because seconds later, he pulls over a few houses from home and puts the car in park. 

You sit for a moment. Watching. Breathing.  

Thinking of how the last time you came here, he was dead.

“I’ll race ya,” he says suddenly, shutting the engine off and throwing his door open. And with a strained chuckle, you follow suit.

You lose on purpose, slowing your steps the closer you get to Gran’s house. You know he can tell.  

But soon, you run out of room to stall. 

As you stand beside the “FOR SALE” sign, feeling like a stranger, the freshly polished wood and foreign color scheme deepen the pit inside your stomach. 

Caleb whistles lowly. “Sure looks different, doesn’t it?”

But you’re not listening. You’re remembering. 

You remember the smell—the charred scent that stuck with you for so long after the explosion, your nostrils blistered from too much blowing. The way ashes fell endlessly from the sky, and you didn’t know what—or who—they were made of. The last-minute salon visit you’d had to schedule to chop the singed ends of your hair off. 

“C’mon. That playground is just this way,” he offers, coaxing voice saving you from too much rumination. 

“Okay,” you whisper, sliding your hand into his.

It was an age-old lesson, one you’d learned a hundred times: summer heat and monkey bars don’t mix.

As you flinch away with a startled hiss, Caleb casually pulls spare gloves from his pocket—as if he kept them on him for a situation like this—and carefully slips them onto you. For someone whose hands dwarf yours, they fit suspiciously well. 

“Up you go,” he sings, lifting you to reach the handles. And just like all those years before, he walks beside you as you cross, steadying you with his gentle touch. 

When you reach the end, instead of jumping down, you shift your momentum to swing backwards, skater dress twirling with the motion. 

But as your front faces the street again, you realize your mistake a moment too late. 

“Oh my gosh, is that who I think it is?!” 

As a vaguely recognizable voice squeals, you freeze in place, hands squeezing around the iron bars in a death grip. 

“Oh, it totally is! You haven’t come around here in forever—it’s so good to see you!” the voice continues. 

Turning your head—slowly, like the main character in a horror film—your eyes land on an all too familiar figure. Sarah, a girl around your age you used to envy for her toy collection, stands just feet away from you, long leash corralling a massive German Shepherd held tightly in her manicured hand. 

With two light taps on your back—Caleb’s signal for you to come down—you loosen your hold and land almost gracefully on the pea gravel below. 

This was a situation you’d only been in once before. When Gideon had crossed paths with you at the cemetery and learned his dead friend was, well…not. 

In any case, the circumstances then had been rare enough for you to carry on without establishing a protocol. And now, as you stand at the mercy of someone with no reason to keep Caleb’s secret, you’ll be forced to improvise. 

“Hi…Sarah,” you grin awkwardly, fiddling with your hands in front of you. “Thought you’d have moved by now.”

“Nope!” she chirps, not catching your apprehension. “We’re gonna give it one more year. After my husband saves up from his new job, we want to travel a bit before settling down.” 

You nod brusquely. 

“By the way, we haven’t really seen you here since the accident. I’m so sorry about your grandmother and Caleb—I know how close you two were. But—oh! Excuse my manners,” she pivots, looking behind you as if a lightbulb flicked on overhead. “Who’s th—”

Sarah’s tanned face blanches. 

“Hey Sarah. It’s been a while,” he greets casually. 

And the woman in front of you looks between you both as if she’s seconds away from siccing that dog on you. 

“You…caught us at a bad time,” you giggle nervously. “It’s kind of a secret, but…that was a…false report, after the explosion. Caleb actually managed to flee the area with a few burns. The authorities just kept the whole thing under wraps in case it was a targeted attack, or something. So I’ve been keeping an eye on him ever since!” you smile tightly, squeezing his dry palm with your clammy one. 

“Oh…well…what a relief, I guess!” she chuckles uncomfortably. “Well…if you’re not laying too low, Caleb,” she starts, extroverted nature beating out her rationality, “we’re having a get-together with all the neighborhood kids tomorrow! You guys should totally come. We’d hate to miss our favorite duo—you were always so funny, nagging each other like siblings.” 

You bristle at the term, gripping Caleb’s hand so tightly it could bruise. “Um, thanks for the offer, Sarah, but we…” you trail off, looking at him to help you. 

“We’d love to come!” he doesn’t. 

“Uh, we…would?” you question, perplexed by his sudden enthusiasm. 

“Yeah, why not, pips? It’d do you good to reconnect with some of the girls you liked hangin’ around. Plus, I’ll be right there with you,” he smiles brightly. 

Though his reasoning barely quells your anxiety, your heart softens at the gesture.

“Alright, then,” you turn to Sarah. “We’ll be there.”

The old mall down the block is halfway through renovations. 

Neon orange construction cones litter the parking lot, and every door but the main entrance is sealed off with yellow caution tape. 

Navigating through the weekend traffic, you and Caleb wander through the swarming, noisy corridors, leaving store after store empty-handed. 

You don’t know what to wear. 

Meeting so many people after such a long time…there’s an irrational need to impress, to look like you have your life together.

And somehow, every outfit seems off on you. It’s not false advertising—the mannequins are gorgeous as ever. But there’s something about you that ruins every look. 

As you rummaged through different displays, Caleb had done some light hovering—staying near, but letting you do your own thing, overall. 

But as you return another dress to the rack with a frustrated growl, he swoops in to put his scary intuition to good use. 

“This would suit you,” he grins kindly, brandishing a pastel blue sundress. “Wanna try it on?”

You eye the fabric skeptically. It’s not your usual style, but you take it into the dressing room anyway. 

And of course, the first thing Caleb picks out for you is perfect. 

“Told ya,” he laughs when you call him inside, back hugging you in the mirror. “You look beautiful. ‘Course it helps that it was my idea, and all.”

Swatting him gently, you giggle as you try to push him out of the cramped space, grunting with annoyance when he sandbags you. 

“Get out of here!” you protest. “We still have to find your outfit, and the mall closes soon.”

“Okay, okay, I'm going,” he relents cheekily. “Snap a picture for me before you take it off, though, alright?”

***

Once you’d paid—or he’d paid, having levitated your purse in the air while you scowled at him—you’d dragged him over to the men’s section, where you’d found an outfit just his size with a similar color scheme.

He’d preened when you held it out to him, puffing his chest out with pride at the fact you knew his tastes so well. And in his sparkling eyes, you’d spotted a flicker of possessiveness as he looked between your clear garment bag and the clothes in his hands, not so subtly comparing the blues to each other. 

And evidently, with the way he’d refused to even try anything on before heading back to the register, he’d been satisfied. 

As you make your way back to his car, Caleb tugs you in by the waist to claim your lips in a tender kiss. 

“It’s perfect,” he breathes. “It’ll be perfect. And even though we’ll be matchin’…I get the feeling you’ll be the one people can’t look away from.”

Caleb’s hand is on the small of your back as you step through Sarah’s front door, but it leaves you as he encourages you to mingle. “Go catch up,” he urges with his signature grin. 

You know what he’s doing. What this whole thing has been. A way to push you out of your comfort zone, a prolonged apology, and a promise to be less overbearing, all in one.

He needs it just as much as you do. Needs you to know that he’s trying. So as you nod softly and make your way through the throng of laughing faces, you hope he sees you trying, too.

Sarah’s parents had both been lawyers, and if the diplomas lining the far wall of the living room didn’t make that clear enough, the sheer size of their house sure did. 

The layout is vaguely familiar—Caleb had been friends with her older brother, and you’d practically begged him to tag along on playdates so you could see the fancy house down the street. 

As you take it all in—the flat screen TVs (plural) broadcasting different channels, the iridescent streamers lining the bannisters, the variety of appetizers spread out across the first floor—you only grow more envious. 

Turning away with a petty huff, you focus on the people instead. As you study faces new and old, you wonder how many guests here brought their partners. How many know that you brought yours.

Sarah—ever the gracious host, never the gossip—had informed the attendees about Caleb’s situation in hopes that he wouldn’t be bombarded the second he stepped inside. And it was working, somehow, as far as you could tell. Aside from a few wary glances sent his way, people greeted him just like they did before: as the golden boy whose presence was a gift. 

At some point, as you’d hovered aimlessly by the drink table, a girl you remembered fondly had strolled up to you. Marley, her name was. With her lively eyes, kind smile, and eagerness to play dolls with you, she’d been your closest non-Caleb friend in the neighborhood. 

“Who would’ve thought the girl next door would grow up to be a hunter, huh?” she jokes, gently elbowing your ribs. 

“It’s really not that special,” you laugh, halfheartedly dodging her pokes. “Just something necessary, I guess, since the Wanderers came. I thought it’d be cool, high-stakes action movie stuff every day, but I kinda feel like a firefighter saving a cat from a tree sometimes.”

“Oh, please. You’re practically a superhero! Caleb, too, being a whole pilot and all. Time really flies—I still remember when he helped you set up your lemonade stand that one summer,” she giggles. “You were always so in sync.” 

“Still are,” you smile softly, gaze subconsciously finding Caleb from across the room. He's chatting in a group of his old buddies, but as always, it’s like he can sense you looking at him. His eyes find yours in an instant, as if he already knew where you were standing—because of course he did—and he shoots you a boyish wink.

“But, if you don’t mind me asking,” Marley hesitates, her eyes shifting perplexedly between you. “Are you two…together…now? You seem even closer than you were as kids, if that’s even possible,” she mutters sarcastically, talking from the side of her mouth. 

As the question hits you for the first time that night, you plaster a big, fake smile on your face. “We sure are! It was five months last week.” 

“Well, congrats, I guess,” she tries to exclaim, but her confusion stunts her sincerity. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s just…I never expected you guys would date! You always seemed more like…ah…friends,” she cringes, her own fake smile twitching slightly.

Friends.

As the word fights its way out of her mouth, likely beating several less polite alternatives, the weight of her hesitance is not lost on you.

“Friends, huh?” you echo, and your smile is real this time. A show of your teeth, a hint that she’s just entered dangerous waters. “What kind of friends grow up in the same house, Marley? Raised by the same person, and all. Pretty rare if you ask me,” you cock your head in mock contemplation. “C’mon, what do you really mean to say?”

You’d been taught well. 

“Okay, okay!” she huffs, folding like a lawn chair under the pressure. “I always thought you were like siblings. Thought you guys thought you were like siblings. I’m just surprised, is all.”

“There’s nothing to be surprised about,” you nod curtly. “You lived next door, not with us. You don’t know how we felt about each other.”

Your voice is robotic as you meet her with a deadened stare. No matter how much you’d expected it, no matter how much you’d prepared, the judgment catches you off guard. 

The rumors, the gossip—it’s one reason you thought Caleb would decline the invite. To protect you, if nothing else. But with a bitter, inward laugh, you guess that him trying means letting you be in situations you might’ve begged him to shield you from.

“I need some air,” you decide suddenly, interrupting Marley’s frantic apologies to turn toward the door. “It was nice catching up.” 

A cool breeze kisses your exposed skin as you watch the fireflies blink from the patio. And as beautiful as they are, glittering in the night sky, there are other things on your mind at the moment.

If Caleb was ever a brother to you, he was the best brother anyone ever had.

You’d seen the way your friends acted with their brothers. Always kept a watchful eye on their interactions, as if comparing their relationships to yours. Middle school, high school, college.

And over all those years, no brother had ever been as attentive—as doting, as patient, as loving—as Caleb. 

After the explosion, when you were left to deal with your feelings alone—no nagging, oversized puppy to distract you—you’d pondered how you saw him. Deep down, under the structure and order and propriety that was forced upon you too young. Regretted that it was too late to ask him how he saw you. 

And if those quiet nights crying so hard it felt like drowning had taught you anything, it was this: as much as Caleb was brotherly, he had always been more—so much more than what he had to be to you.

He could’ve shut himself in his room for hours, leaving you to fend for yourself. He could’ve ghosted you the minute you no longer went to the same school. Could’ve found a girlfriend, had kids early, and moved his real family far away from you. All these things, you’d seen happen.

But through it all, Caleb had stayed, and he’d done it with his signature smile. Even when you’d worried he’d outgrown you, had outpaced you with his stellar achievements, he’d just pinched your cheek with a fond grin. Who d’ya think I do all that for, silly? he’d laughed. 

By your reunion, when he’d stared down at you so cruelly, you’d known what he was to you. The only man you’d ever loved, in all meanings of the phrase. That’s why it had hurt so much. 

And Caleb had scared you off. Your feelings were fragile, only newly realized. But his…were developed. Intense. More intense than you were ready for, coming from someone who’d been off-limits for 15 years. 

So you’d resisted. Resisted his spiraling admissions, resisted the feelings you knew he had for you, resisted his frantic attempts to steal you from the world. 

It would take time for you to accept a love like his. You’d told him as much five months ago—that you needed to meet in the middle. And he’d promised to try. 

As the days went by, you got used to treating him like a lover. To putting new meanings behind every touch. And every time you kissed him, he carved out more of his own paradise in your mind, escaping the liminal area he’d occupied in unfulfilling restraint. 

It was only in moments like this when prying eyes and hushed whispers wore you down. People who thought that, because they knew you once—for a summer, for a semester, for a school year—they knew who you were and how you felt. But there was something paradoxically mercurial about you and Caleb: the more you stayed the same, the more you changed. And only the two of you were privy to it. 

Even still, some leers and questions got to you, just as they had tonight. Apprehension and a resented sense of shame had filled your gut, as if you’d been “caught” stealing from your own wallet. 

But of all the things Caleb was to you, only one mattered: he was yours. And as a firefly lands on your outstretched palm, twinkling beautifully in the darkness that threatens it, you know no one can take that from you. 

Caleb had had better nights. 

He’d had worse, for sure—agony and loneliness come to mind—but he’d definitely had better. 

He’s spent this one mingling among the names he hadn’t cared to remember, all as an attempt to show you he won’t cage you in. You can have fun, have friends outside of him, as much as the thought makes his stomach churn. 

And what better way to start than with people he already knew? Baby steps.

As he cranes his neck to find you again (which shouldn’t be hard, since he just has to look for the one dressed like him), he vaguely registers an incessant buzz of a voice talking his ear off. Jared, he calls himself. 

“Anyway, I can’t believe you did that to her. That’s fucked up, man,” the voice says, clapping Caleb’s back with an obnoxious chortle. 

And as much as he needs to find you, Caleb really wishes he’d spared some of his attention for the homunculus beside him. 

“What exactly are you implying?” he asks lowly, lifting the hand from his shoulder with a firmness that any sober person would find threatening. 

He’s almost certain you’re not in the room, now, your calming presence lost in the sea of discarded memories. Alarms sound in his head at the realization, only to be drowned out by something more damning.

“It’s just…you grew up together! Had the same grandma. That's like your sister, dude. But you know what, to each their own. The way she looks, I can’t say I would've held myself back any better than you did. Probably worse, man. Matter of fact, you fucked her y—?”

The force of Caleb’s Evol clamps Jared’s mouth shut.

And, if his muffled yelp is any indication, hopefully breaks a few of his teeth, their bloodied chips settling on his tongue.

“This sorry excuse for a conversation is over. Leave. Now. And if I see you talking to her on your way out, I’ll make sure you never get the chance to again.”

Jared nods fearfully, and after one last snarl, Caleb lifts his Evol, albeit begrudgingly. It takes Jared a few seconds to notice his newfound freedom, but the moment he does, he’s scurrying out of the house. Good. 

You’re back in Caleb’s sight, now. But as he takes in your shy smile, the faint melody of your laughter filling his keen ears, he doesn’t feel the comfort he normally would. 

Instead, he feels his dog tag. 

Your precious gift to him. A symbol of how you needed him, of your anticipation that he’d always be in your life. Of his hope that one day, you’d return his feelings. 

He recalls the once comfortable weight, the way his body heat would flow into the cool metal, linking it to him in a warm embrace. 

The chain now burns against his throat.

Jared had been brash.

Crude, crass, and certainly cocky, thinking he was deserving of you. 

So as Caleb watches you chat among a mixed group of guests, swirling his full cup in agitation, he decides he doesn’t care about the delivery. It’s the content that troubles him. 

Because Jared, in his drunken state, had managed to hit a nerve Caleb had tried to sever five months ago. 

Are you sure you want this? he’d asked you shakily. Want it from me? With me?

And in clear confirmation, you’d claimed his first kiss.

But even still, the thoughts lingered at the back of his brain. That he was tainting you, taking advantage of you, stealing your life away. 

He knows Jared isn’t worth the scum beneath his shoe, but those unsavory thoughts made his own worries resurface. 

And as fickle as his mind was, he’d only ever known to trust it. 

So when Caleb sees you beam at another man’s compliment, glowing like you’d been sent from heaven itself, he feels like maybe he’d been right.

For the rest of the night, Caleb dreaded the drive home. Luckily, you’d slept for most of the way back. 

But as he parks outside your building, gently rousing you from your sleep, the feeling returns in full force. 

“Good morning,” you giggle, stretching drowsily. “Sorry I fell asleep on you—I can’t remember the last time I talked that much. Did you have fun?” 

“Something like that,” he says, popping the driver’s door open. “You?”

“I did, I think,” you start, opening your own side and sliding out of his car. “I really did. It was a little rough at first, but it got better. What about you? Anybody try to stab your brains out? Since you’re undead and all.” 

He chuckles dryly. “Not exactly.”

As you trudge toward your apartment, Caleb trails behind you. You’re so dazed, you almost don’t notice it. But you miss the familiar warmth of his left hand.

Your tired fingers quiver as you fail to unlock your door, and with a gentle nudge, Caleb slides the key in for you. 

Mumbling a “thank you,” you step through the doorway, making space for him to follow. When he doesn’t, you turn to face him, frowning lightly in confusion. Gleaming in the moonlight, the metal threshold separates your feet: yours on the inside, his on the outside. 

“I’ve been called back to Skyhaven. It’s nothing too serious, but I’ll have to cut this visit short. Don’t worry about me.”

The words pierce your chest like a dagger, but his cold delivery twists the knife.

“Oh,” you breathe, not knowing what to do or where to look or how to hide your disappointment. “I didn’t know they had any way of contacting you. Your communicator’s still in my nightstand, you know,” you quip lamely. “But I guess four days has to be enough this time. I’m lucky to have gotten that.”

Smiling weakly, you lean in to kiss him. But with his sudden reservation, the moment is more chaste than you’d intended. 

As he starts to turn away, you instinctively grab his hand. “Are you…is everything okay? You’re being weird,” you whisper, eyes searching him in concern. 

“No I’m not,” he retorts, forcing life back into his voice. The weight of his hand ruffling your hair feels wrong, somehow, and his airy tone is a contrast to the darkness in his gaze. “Get some rest, pip-squeak.”

Caleb never thought the jewelry box you’d left at his place would come in handy. 

He had no use for it—the only piece he truly needed to preserve stayed looped around his neck at all times. 

But as he stares at the silver chain hung carefully on a hook, its ruby-crested apple dangling in the evening sunlight, he silently thanks you for your forgetfulness. 

It’s been two days since he returned to Skyhaven, but the events of that night remain fresh wounds in a fragile mind. 

I can’t believe you did that to her.

I can’t believe you did that to her.

To you. Not with.

As if his love was an assault. 

All his life, Caleb had tried to show you only the good sides of him. To tamper down his intensities so you’d eat from his palm. You were a skittish thing, failed one too many times by an inadequate world. So he’d approached you gently, practicing docility until it became second nature. To keep his eager hands from defiling you. 

He’d molded himself into whoever you needed him to be, never admitting what he wanted to be to you. All so you would tolerate him, want to keep him around for his services, if nothing else. Because as much as he claimed to protect you, your safety was his anchor. If you were loved, warm, and unharmed—if he kept you that way—then every consequence was worth it. 

He’d learned to live like a chameleon, his temperament matching your mood. And as much as a forgotten part of him yearned for identity, it was a role he’d settled into playing—until his weakened back had snapped under the pressure. 

When you’d confessed that you felt the same—that you loved him in more ways than the one you should—he’d deluded himself into thinking those years of restraint were over. That he could stop watching over you and start walking with you. That you would fall from propriety hand in hand. 

He’d never thought himself naive. Always launched himself ahead of the curve so that would never be an option for him. Naive was something someone with his responsibility couldn’t afford to be. 

But now, as his lifeline swings back and forth on its new perch, jingling with what could only be mockery, the feeling swallows Caleb whole. 

It would’ve killed him to see you with someone else. He’d had nightmares about it every month, save for the last five, ever since he was a teenager. But even if you chose to live with someone else by your side…at least he would have gotten to see you do it. To watch you be happy, carefree, without you wondering if it was your right to be. Without the guilt of robbing your life from you, tainting your purity with his sin.

He knew you were wary. You’d gotten better about it—at hiding it, at least—but he could still feel the panicked clench of your hand in his when someone looked at you too long. You were trying, for him, just as he tried for you. But if trying meant the unfiltered scrutiny that Jared had spewed could one day reach you, it wasn’t worth it, he decided. 

You deserved more than the headache he’d give you. 

***

The days drag on. 

Caleb’s vacation ends as little more than purgatory, and when he dons his Colonel uniform once more, the Fleet’s affairs feel his presence now more than ever. 

He’s sharper now, meaner. Mistakes that would usually earn a light slap on the wrist now end in termination. Figurative or literal, the recruits aren’t sure. 

He knows he’s spiraling. He hears the whispers: “The Colonel’s finally lost it” met with “As if he ever had it.” But rebuke from any voice but yours doesn’t reach him. 

During flights, he plays his missions a little less safe, making rash decisions sure to end in incident, eventually. He justifies it, in his head, by thinking that maybe an injury would inflict upon him the suffering he deserves. 

He’s been drifting, lately. Through the hallways, through the streets, through space. 

But aimless as he is, Caleb can’t bring himself to desert you completely. Those 15 years of gentle servitude had become so ingrained in him, he thinks a total cutoff would only make him more reckless. So he pacifies you with brief, polite answers, sharing none of his usual charm and emoticons. This flighty, diluted version of himself was all that he could offer. 

But each day, when Caleb stumbles back into the necessary solitude of his house, wheezing with overexertion, he heads straight to the hidden room where you’d discovered his bionic arm. Where, under dark wooden panels, a row of monitors hide. 

Their feeds are clear as they’ve always been. Your cubicle, your route home, your front door, your kitchen. Your bedroom. 

And until he succumbs to exhaustion, Caleb watches you. 

Watches you sift through reports, eyes open but unseeing. 

Watches you stumble on the way home, your foot catching on a stray root that he would’ve spotted in time. 

Watches you crumble, after a while, and curl up on the side of your bed where he always slept. 

Watches until the rhythmic rocks of your crying body lull you to sleep in place of his heartbeat.

As the clock strikes midnight, you complete your count to 23.

It’s been 23 days since you’d received anything more than a one-word response from Caleb. 

At first, you’d given him grace—thought he just wasn’t feeling well. He was always one to withdraw from you when sick, locking himself away for a while before emerging like nothing happened. 

But even then, he was never this curt with you. He always reassured you that he was okay.

Days passed, and the mysterious illness theory flew out the window. As you fired off another concerned text, all but pleading for him to say something, you wondered if he was mad at you—but what could you have done? Not to mention that when he was mad at you, it usually ended with him apologizing, somehow. It’s always Caleb’s fault, huh? he’d cooed at you, rubbing your back tenderly. I’m sorry, baby. 

Something was just…wrong. Terribly, scarily wrong. And whatever it was, you had to figure it out alone.

With a frustrated growl, you snatch your phone up from its place on your nightstand and scroll to your latest messages, hoping he’s decided to take you out of time-out. 

you: hi. i know you’re probably sick of me asking, but can you call when you get a chance? haven’t heard your voice in a while.

>:( : later.

Nothing. He was giving you absolutely nothing.

You want to scream. Want to hunt him down, grab him by the collar, and thrash him around for being so difficult. But as your gaze flits to the photo on your desk—a silly selfie you’d taken on your first official date—your heart constricts from how badly miss him. 

You miss him so desperately that the pain in your chest is worse than when he left for college. At least you’d known he would come back to you, then.  

As hot tears well in your eyes—far from the first time—you remember the words he’d written to you once, never intending for you to read them: “Any man who makes you cry isn't worth your time,” you repeat, snorting softly at the irony.

But unluckily for him, Caleb wasn't any man.

Any man wouldn't braid your hair from childhood to now, never teaching you to do it yourself because he wasn’t willing to give up doing it. Any man wouldn't skip the senior trip he’d saved hundreds for just to nurse you through a stomach bug. Any man wouldn't dedicate half his life to making sure yours was painless. 

So no, Caleb wasn’t any man. He was smart, skilled, and devoted. He was reliable, doting, and selfishly self-sacrificing. He was the reason you’d grown up so well, always wanting to make him proud. And he was yours.

Tugging harshly at the roots of your hair—a habit he’d always tried to break—you pace around your bedroom like a frenzied animal.

You were going to go to him, that much was obvious. To ambush him and make him explain what you’d done for him to discard you like this. To apologize, if he’d hear it. 

But how, if he wouldn’t give you the time of day? The man lived in a giant sky fortress, for God’s sake. And with his neverending suspicions, it wasn’t like he trusted any other members of the Fleet enough to give you their contact informati—

Except, you interrupt yourself, freezing mid-step. He did.

Liam.

Caleb’s faithful adjutant, the one you’d spoken to—or spoken at, while he looked at you unnervingly—just a handful of times.

Sometimes, bad ideas are the only ones available.

Retrieving your phone from where it lies face down on your rumpled blanket, you scroll and scroll to the bottom of your contact list, where Liam’s name stares back at you forebodingly. 

Steeling yourself with a shaky nod, you press call and wait with bated breath. He answers on the second ring. 

“Miss, may I ask why you’re calling? Are you in any trouble?” his deep, dispassionate voice, devoid of any true concern, rings out.

You swallow thickly before trusting your voice enough to sound as anything more than a pitiful squeak. “I-I have Caleb’s communicator,” you maneuver skillfully despite your nerves. “He left it at my apartment. Can you take me to him? So I can give it back.”

“You’d be better off turning it in to one of our administrators. The Colonel is very busy right now and—”

“Take me to him, please,” you repeat stubbornly, raised voice echoing off ivory drywall. 

“Miss, I'm only allowed to speak with you if you’re in immediate danger. I'm under strict orders not to facilitate any interaction with the Colonel.”

He’s going to hang up soon, you panic. And then your only chance is gone. 

A flare of anger heats your skin as you realize you don’t have an appointment to see your own boyfriend. The one who can pester you and break your boundaries with a barely apologetic smile, but shuts you out the second you try to do the same.

Channeling your tears from earlier—they still line your eyes, after all—you sniffle into the speaker. Desperate times… 

“What do you think will happen when I tell him you made me cry? You won’t be under any orders anymore,” you bait him quietly, relying on the fragile hope that Caleb was still as fiercely protective of you as he’d been before. 

The pregnant pause on the other line tells you you’d succeeded. “I…” he clears his throat. “Please arrive at the Skyhaven airport at your earliest convenience. I'll be there to take you to the Colonel.”

When Liam’s aircraft lands on the familiar floating island, you rush out with a muttered “thanks” and jam your thumb onto the sensor.

But as the doors slide open and you stomp inside, the silence you’re met with tells you Caleb isn’t home. 

Sighing heavily, you survey your surroundings: the spotless kitchen, barren like it hadn’t been used in weeks; the dust collecting on his most-used surfaces; the tray on the coffee table, missing its usual array of apples. Had he been eating? Had he been coming here at all?

Your worries carry you through the other rooms, but none hold the answers to your questions. 

And as you step into his bedroom, the place you were most likely to find a clue, you wish you hadn’t. 

Because there, hanging tauntingly on a familiar looking jewelry box, is Caleb’s dog tag. The chain he never went without. 

The ache in your chest becomes a gaping void. 

Blood rushes to your ears and makes them ring so loudly that you can’t hear the despondent noise you make. On unsteady feet, you lurch farther into the room and lower your trembling body onto the mattress. 

As you stare at the mahogany jewelry box, looming mockingly on the dresser, you think the walls spin around you. 

In all the years you’d known Caleb, he had never been one to just give up—so what about you was so condemnable that it finally made him?

He wasn’t here to answer. 

So you take the chain for what it is: resignation. Eviction. 

It feels like you shouldn’t be here anymore. Like you’re an intruder in a sacred space. Like maybe you shouldn’t have even made it in, but he just hadn’t had the time to axe your thumbprint from the system yet. 

You need to leave. That much is clear. But here, stranded in the sky, you don’t exactly have a getaway plan. 

Without the leverage of Caleb’s love, you doubt Liam would take too kindly to being threatened again, just hours after the first time. 

As fruitless minutes tick by, it’s clear that waiting is your only option. But as you curl up in the center of the bed, chest heaving with labored breaths, you no longer anticipate Caleb’s return. 

When your eyes blink open in the dead of night, you know he’s there before you see him.

The air in the room feels different. Heavy and charged, like just before a thunderstorm. 

Anything could happen when you face him. But he’s deprived you of so much lately, that at least something would. 

Shoving the thought to the front of your mind for motivation, you raise your head to find him in the darkness of the room, lit only by a lone streetlight. 

And the sight of him makes your stomach drop.

Caleb, uniform torn and tattered, slumps against the wall closest to the bed, eyes closed and head lowered. 

A smear of blood paints his cheek, and as you zero in on it, you notice the eyebags so dark they look like bruises. Like he hasn’t slept in days. 

But even with his eyes closed, you should know by now that you don’t have the time to ogle him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispers hoarsely. 

“Where else would I go?” 

And those violet irises find yours. 

“Do you regret it? That you have nowhere else to go?” he asks softly, bloodshot gaze searching your huddled form. Checking, like he always did. 

No is your immediate answer. But you figure you should ask him first. That way, when you say it, he might actually believe you. “What?”

“Do you regret what I’ve done to you?” he elaborates, voice dropping near the end. 

The explanation doesn’t help. “What have you done to me, Caleb?”

He winces at the phrasing, though he knows it’s not an accusation. 

Cocking his head cynically, he lets a hollow chuckle escape. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to go to that party. Guess that’s what I get for trying.” 

“What are you talking about?” you probe, shifting to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“What’s wrong with me,” he mimics, “is that I’m trying to stay away from you. For your own sake.” 

“You weren’t there to see it. Hung up in another room, or outside, or something. It was the only time I lost sight of you,” he recalls bitterly. “And this guy started mouthin’ off about how fucked it was for us to be together. Said I was sick for the things I must’ve done to you.” 

A sliver of understanding eases the tension in your muscles. But you need to hear it from him. “And you believed him?” you ask, eyeing him warily. 

“It wasn't him who I had to believe. I already knew. Have known, for a while now, no matter how much I tried to pretend I didn’t. The way I thought my hands deserved to touch you—it’s a sin, isn’t it? One you shouldn’t have to carry. That’s why I left—so you could live a life unburdened by me.” 

At his words, an all too familiar irritation stirs within you. Alongside sadness that he’d thought it best to feel this way alone. 

Pushing forcefully off the bed, you kneel between his knees, gripping his bloodied face between your hands. “Who said you had permission to leave?” you ask lowly, and you hear his voice in yours. 

“I asked you what happened that night,” you continue. “More than once. And I'd have listened if you told me. Would’ve been there to tell you that none of it mattered. But you said it was nothing—another way to protect me, I guess. And then you left me on my doorstep, wondering how I’d hurt you.” 

Caleb’s mouth drops slightly, but you don’t let him interrupt. “When you said you would try, you overlooked one thing. Part of trying is considering how I feel. Like when I saw your necklace—how do you think I felt? I thought…you didn’t want me anymore. That you’d decided I was too big a burden for you,” you breathe, and when your voice breaks at the end, Caleb covers your hands with his.

“If your sin involves me, you don’t get to live through it alone. You pulled away from me without wondering if I wanted to be complicit. If I wanted to share it with you. You don’t get to make me a victim without asking if I feel like one. And I never have.”

He freezes at that, gazing up at you imploringly. When he finds what he’s looking for, he turns his head slightly, lips brushing your wrist in a hesitant kiss. “I know—” he swallows. “I know you feel ashamed sometimes. Of being with me, now, when I was who I was to you. Even if you don’t want to be, when we go out together, I can feel it.”

“You’re right,” you nod simply, and he fails to stifle a choked gasp. “But I don’t let it change anything.”

Now, it’s Caleb’s turn to ask. “What do you mean?”

“Remember Marley?” you start softly, stroking his tousled hair. “Girl I used to play dolls with when you were too busy? She asked about us, too. And I told her the truth: we’re together, and we’re happy, and our story is ours. It’s not just your choice, Caleb. I’m with you because I want the same. I always have.” 

And as much as you know he wants to believe it, to accept it and move on, things were never that simple with him. 

“You don’t understand,” he murmurs shakily, returning your hands to your lap as if they’ve burned him. “I can't…I've only ever wanted to keep you safe. No matter who I had to be to you. And when you let me have you—how I want to, how I’d wanted to…I wasn’t strong enough to turn you away. I’m not strong enough to do what’s best for you,” he whispers with glistening eyes.

Slowly, gently, you reach out to him a second time. To splay a hand on his exposed chest, to get him used to the feeling of your touch again. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” you murmur, stroking your thumb against him. “Because I think you’re very strong.” 

“I thought you were strong when you saved me from those bullies in middle school. Still remember the black eyes you gave them. When I saw that…I thought you were a hero. And I wanted to be just like you.” Pausing, you lean down to kiss his collarbone, and though he shudders, you take his pleading gaze as a sign to continue. 

“I thought you were strong when Gran got really sick, and you had to do everything. Cooking, cleaning, taking me to school. And you did it with a smile.” Giving him one of your own, you cradle his flushed face in your hands, stroking his darkening cheeks tenderly. Violet eyes watch you with disbelief—a reflection of six months ago, when you’d entrusted your first kiss to him. 

“And when you kissed me back that first time? When I felt how much you wanted to, how you kept it bottled up inside you for so long—I thought you were so strong,” you whisper, mouth hovering over his. “You’ve always been strong, Caleb. It’s why I love you so much.”

In time with his sharp inhale, you press your lips to his. But as large hands flex against your sides, he doesn’t respond to your touch. 

So you press harder, deeper, as if your kiss will awaken what’s dormant within him: his molten, unabashed need for you. The need that holds purity in its paradox, even if he doesn’t know it yet.

And when you circle your hand around his throat, where his necklace once collared him in your name, Caleb kisses you back. 

It’s an exploratory kiss, but a passionate one. As if your reacquainted lips are making up for lost time. 

You guide him with the steady suction of your lips, and when you tug at his frayed lapel, Caleb takes the lead. 

His tongue surges into your mouth, reclaiming what he’d missed, and you moan at the welcome intrusion. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, backing away slightly. “Sometimes I just wonder…if you’d be better off without me.” 

“I wouldn't,” you soothe, pulling him in for a reassuring peck. “You’re a part of me. I want you wherever I am, whichever version of you will have me.”

“All of them,” he mumbles against you. “And then some.”

And as you slip his hand under your shirt, there’s no reluctance in his tender grasp. Like he belongs there. 

Soft strokes on your bare shoulder wake you as the sun rises. 

“I missed seein’ you like this,” murmurs the voice you’d missed just as much. 

“And whose fault is that?” you chide, cutting your eyes to glare up at him playfully. 

“Mine,” he concedes instantly. “All mine.”

“Mhm. Speaking of,” you begin, stepping out of bed gingerly. “If you’re going to be my Caleb, there’s one more thing you need to do. Close your eyes,” you instruct. 

And Caleb complies—something that’s come easy the past six months. 

The room is silent for a moment, with only the distant sounds of jet planes piercing the air. 

Then, a soft clink. 

And as the mattress dips with your return to him, Caleb lifts his head instinctively. And the cool surface of metal slips around his neck. 

As Caleb spares you a glance from the passenger’s seat, the apple charm on his dog tag glints in the sunlight. 

Row after row of familiar houses comes into view, but you seem calm, this time. Unburdened. 

With some compliments and exaggerated enthusiasm, Sarah had been more than happy to host another party. And you’d been more than patient as you’d encouraged Caleb to attend. 

He’d been cautious, at first, for obvious reasons. But you didn’t dare push. 

So as the date loomed closer, he’d decided to try. 

And when you cross the threshold hand in hand to a sea of curious faces, the tension he expects to compress his pulsing heart never comes.

Instead, something kinder blossoms: pure, weightless pride.

[shysuccubusstuff]

Loser! Caleb:

Content: Obssessive! Caleb + Manipulative! Caleb; underwear stealing + scent kink + masturbation

Note: I mean, most of the LI are kind of losers if you think about it… (I love it). With this I refer to, the kind of loser who may or may not be able to cum just from putting it in… ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ Just read that some ppl think infold may take away my sweet yandere trope and I'm about to lose it, fuck you mean you will make me lose this sweet man with a dubious state of mind… #tragic I ACCIDENTALLY PUBLISHED IT BEFORE FINISHING IT--- Does anyone have a request for a next writing? "૮₍ •⤙•˶₊˚ෆ I would love to try and do one!

Loser! Caleb who always had to stay close to you since childhood. The two of you met in the orphanage, and ever since then, he had chosen to follow you anywhere you went. You wanted to go to that park? There he was. Now to the new candy store they had recently opened? Of course he was behind you. You didn't particarly mind, after all, he was your friend, and an extremely shy person, so you believed it was your "duty" to keep him from people who could try to take advantage of him. This situation didn't change a bit, with Caleb even staying close to you during highschool, always giving teary eyes to the teachers every single time they were planning on changing the seats or groups, with him always telling them some sob stories about how you were one of the few people that had always stood by his side ever since his parents suddenly dissappeared without trace.

Loser! Caleb who took advantage of your common situation. By the time the two of you finished highschool, both of you were planning to get into university, after all, the orphanage would pay for half of the tution, together with the money the two of you had been able to save during the years, it would be easy to find a place to stay during the academic year. So by the time you are already looking for places that are close to uni, Caleb had already found one. Who would have guessed that it was just for two people? Not only that, but according to him, the rent was a bit too high for him, so maybe you could move with him? Totally not for him to become even closer to you. And before you realise it, the two of you are already moving to a new flat, with Caleb helping you move all the heavy cardboard boxes, a big smile on his face as his chest puffed up from thinking about how he was finally able to help you. He silently thanked his past self for thinking about getting into the gym after hearing you speak with some friend about how you loved strong men.

Loser! Caleb who no longer has to conceal his affection. As soon as the two of you moved together, you had noticed how Caleb had become much more affectionate towards you. With him always accompanying you to your class before leaving, planting a soft kiss on your forehead with the excuse of how "childhood friends can do this much", which you obviously believe because, why would Caleb lie to you? The fact that you are that naïve is a great help for him, allowing him to kiss your cheek every morning, sometimes even sleeping together with poor excuses such as suffering from nightmares every night... Surely Caleb wasn't actively taking advantage of the fact that he was the closest to you.

Loser! Caleb who starts to become more cocky. He starts slowly, leaving some of his clothes around your room in case any of your "classmates" was able to get into your room. He suddenly opens the door, bringing some refreshments with his warm smile, eyes glistening as he leaves the plate filled with fruit, together with two glasses of fresh orange juice, "accidentally" dropping the whole content of the glass on the pants of the other guy. He looks apologetic, tears swelling up on his eyes as he tells him that he's absolutely sorry for that, how could he be so clumsy? But as soon as he leaves your bedroom, his arms are wrapped around you, his face hidden on the crook of your neck as he gives you kisses all over it. "Why did you invite him without letting me know...? You know I get really anxious with new people..." Caleb's hands clinged onto your clothes, caressing your arms over the cloth and sending currents of electricity through you.

"I'm sorry, Caleb. He kept asking to visit our house since I kept trying to push him off, I thought this would make him stop once and for all." You petted Caleb's hair as if he was a cute puppy, with him smiling happily and leaning towards your touch.

"It's ok, not like he left you any change, right?" Caleb soon got away the second the guy entered the room, leaving the two of you to finish the project as fast as possible, after all, the sooner he left you two, the sooner that ugly man would be away from you.

Loser! Caleb who makes sure to get his revenge. It takes less than a few weeks for the guy to be expelled from the university. According to the gossip that has been running around the class, the guy had been trying to flirt with some of the freshman girls, even trying to force them to spend time with him in fear of creating bad rumours about them. Luckily, some other students had provided screeshots of the different mesages he had sent, and after they had send them to Caleb, the one in charge of all the matters related with the welfare of all the students of the university, it was just a matter of time for him to get expelled. Despite that, he keeps acting oblivious, telling you that he had nothing to do with his expulsion, as he had been too busy with some other matters. Still, you couldn't even imagine just how happy Caleb had been after doing it, taking his sweet time getting to know all the freshman of your grade so he could easily get the proof he needed. Just what would he do for you? ♡

Loser! Caleb who begins to steal some of your underwear. He knows this is quite twisted even for him, I mean, just what kind of man would sneak into the room of his sweet childhood friend to grab a pair of underwear and use it, wrapping it around his hard cock as he imagined your sweet cunt wrapping around it. Gosh, he could barely contain his lewd whimpers as he kept overstimulating himself, always stopping just before he was about to cum. He had to make sure to enjoy it as long as possible, as he then had to rush to the bathroom so he could clean and dry your underwear as if he had never done anything.

Loser! Caleb who takes advantage of each time you leave to hangout with your friends. As soon as he hears your steps getting away from the door he is already rushing to your bedroom, taking one of the pillows in your bed and taking a deep breath, face buried on it as he smelt the sweet mixture between your shampoo and your natural scent. Just this was more than enough for him to let his imagination go wild, his pants starting to press against his hardened cock as he kept sniffing happily. Before he was even able to notice, his hand was already running down his chiseled abs, swiftly lowering his trousers so he could let his erection out, starting to stroke it as he kept imagining your sweet face, that coy smile as you teased him, together with your alluring body and that lovely personality... How could he resist such an enticing woman...? He bites your pillow as he finally cums, his mind drifting on the idea of painting your soft tummy with his thick cum ♡...

[sourle]

https://www.tumblr.com/sourle/782612631264673792/falls-through-the-roof-you-know-i-just-wanna?source=share

Oof- now that I think about it- if I was in a situation like that with the Reader like that- honestly.... Smash-

OKAY BUT FR NOW- like just imagine the Reader but with different survivors now- uggfhhh- i love situations like that cus it has so much drama but also shows what and how different survivors would and could react if they were put into a situation like THAT with the reader-

(Lucky taph-)

(btw, you don't have to do this request if you don't want to, and if you want to, take your time 😌👍)

Spaces

Get yo nasty azz on!

WARNINGS: a bit suggestive, i think? Just the cast getting mushed between your chest

Note:

Ohohohoho

Rubs my hands together*

Noob

Oh they are full on FLUSTERED

This non-binary would not survive one second vro🙏

After it they would be a stuttering mess

They can't look at you, not the same way at least

Gosh they wonder if they would be able to be trapped like that with you again

WHAT WHO THOUGHT THAT

They're crumbling and would be spotted staring at you chest RESPECTFULLY

Elliot

Oh he does not expect it at ALL

He's blushing, confused, flustered, all mixing emotions, no negative ones.

He'll quickly get out the tight space and breath heavily to either control himself or he's been holding his breath while squeezed between your chest

Oh he will definitely STARE with Noob, RESPECTFULLY

Bro still hates you but damn he can't deny LMAO

Shedletsky

WOAH WOAH WHAT

Oh he's both embarrassed and flustered

Both due to getting mushed between your chest

He pulled back before saying 'fuck it' in his mind and rest his face between it

Bro succumb

Maybe from that one interaction alone he's questioning if he truly hates you lol

Builderman

Being the shortest has it perks huh?

He's full on embarrassed about it

He can't think, he malfunction

He refused, in denial, that he enjoyed it

Will push you away the moment his face gets between those chests like you're full of germs

Dusekkar

Why is his fire burning hotter?

He's embarrassed and flustered, yet he just floats higher to be face to face with you

He's not dealing with it, nor does he want to think about it

He does think about it after like what if he didn't float up

Two time

They're just standing still

Not moving

Fella is smiling, either giddily or just from flustering

They does not mind at all

They actually enjoys it and would sniff

You quickly throw them out of the hiding spot

Chance

He doesn't know if he's lucky or unlucky

But if they're told to make a bet, he's lucky

WHY IS HE NUZZLING FORWARD BRO YOU FREAK

They don't mind and will not move even after the killer is gone

It's up to you if you wanna push him off or not

But if you do they will look like a kicked puppy

Guest 1337

Will pull back instantly out of respect

Bro is not staying, he will go out and fight with the killer from sheer embarrassment alone

Safe to say he did think about it once afterwards

007n7

Oh like Noob, he's full on FLUSTERED

He short circuits, he doesn't know if he should pull away or not

He's a stuttering mess, apologizing a lot

He expressed that he's embarrassed but gosh does he want it inside

Note: I've done Taph before, so i won't do him here

[izzyy-stuff]

Hi izzy! just finished reading good boy, and it was so good! i have a smut fic rec where in idol!beomgyu reacts to his idol!girlfriend who's having a comeback with a sexy concept. Beomgyu gets all jealous of all the reader's fanboys feedback and reader/beomgyu has to pay the price, IDK about this but TYYYY <3

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

idol!bf!beomgyu x fem!reader

in which Choi Beomgyu, the ever so calm boyfriend, doesn't like the attention you get after your comeback, causing the urge to remind you who makes you feel good every night grow louder.

wc 1.5k

warnings smut, established relationship, suggestive concept, idol!reader, idol au, jealous!Beomgyu, fans leaving nasty comments, nicknames, bit of dry humping, p without plot tbh, praise, pantie fucking, unprotected sex + creampie, idk i think that's all

↪ izzy speaks... okay I'm sorry you had to wait for so long... this has been sitting there for months, I don't even know when good boy came out but god... but!! It's here now!! not proofread :3

Music Bank was probably your favorite performance so far. It’s been a little over a week since your promotions started and even though your stylists gave you pretty clothes for every performance, you liked the one for Music Bank the most. Not only that, but you strongly believed you did the best that day. 

And it turns out, your fans feel the same way. In the last few days, clips from your performance got on your feed and you often stopped to see what everyone thought, blushing at the comments and praises. It made you happy to see they enjoyed it as much as you did, even though some of the comments were wilder than you expected. 

There were a few times your ass got into the frame, a moment in the choreography where you lean forward and wink, and a moment where your skirt rides up just a bit too much. You didn’t mind what people said, even though you knew a lot of people would find it weird. 

However, your boyfriend didn’t think the same. The comments pissed him off, every thirsty or dirty thing that was said about you made him more mad. He couldn’t say anything, not when it was your agency that picked the concept and choreography. But it didn’t change how he felt every time he stumbled over one of your edits or clips of a performance. 

“This outfit is so fucking cute,” you smile, placing your phone on the table and making sure you’re fully in the frame before taking a step back and doing a spin for your boyfriend. “Right?” You pick up the phone again and bring it closer to your face when he doesn’t answer. “Beomie?” 

“Can you put on some safety shorts, baby?” He asks instead, a mixture of worry and anger in his eyes. You blink confusedly, slowly nodding. “Yeah, of course. Does it show too much when I move?” 

“Mhm, a bit,” he nods, sighing. “You’re beautiful, though,” he praises you. “I just don’t need any more guys thirting over my girl and saying weird shit.” You smile, a warm, reassuring one he needs at the moment. “It’s not like they can do more than watch,” you remind him and he just hums quietly, wishing you good luck on your performance before hanging up. 

You’re sweating when you get home that afternoon, in a desperate need of a shower and a cozy movie night with your boyfriend to relax your mind. But as soon as you step inside and your eyes land on Beomgyu, squeezing his phone tightly in his hands, you know a cozy night isn’t what you’re going to get. You’d be a fool not to notice how angry he is. 

“Gyu?” You coo softly, getting out of your shoes in the hallway and making your way over to him. He looks up at you, eyeing your clothes with possessiveness. You blink confusedly, holding his hand when he offers it to you. “Who pissed you off, baby?” 

“Your agency,” he mumbles, pulling you onto his lap. Your eyes widen but you don’t protest, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning closer to place a kiss on his lips. “Why exactly this time, hm?” 

“The concept and everything it evoked in your fans,” he answers against your lips, his mind immediately calming down as he claims your lips. You giggle, tangling your fingers with his hair. “Is my baby jealous?” you tease, tugging on his hair. “Mad. Angry. Not jealous,” he argues, thrusting his hips against your core so you feel just how mad he is. You bite your bottom lip to prevent a moan from leaving your mouth and grind on him, feeling him through your panties. “Yeah? It sounds to me like you are jealous.” 

“And what if I am?” He hums, kissing you again as his hands move to grab your ass. He helps you grind on him, watching you with a smirk while you become a moaning mess, whining as he leans down to suck your breast through your clothes. “You should be reminded who helps you get off every time, don’t you think?” 

You close your mouth to muffle your moan and nod, pulling on his hair with more force now to get him to look at you. “Get it off.” He gives you an amused look, not moving an inch to do as you asked. Instead, he thrusts his hips forward again. “Please.” 

Your plea combined with a whimper finally gets him moving and he helps you out of your top, squeezing your breast as soon as your clothes fall to the ground. “You’re so pretty,” he praises you, your thighs rubbing together on an instinct. “Everyone seems to think so,” you nod, just to rail him up a bit more. It works because his hands find your ass again and he presses you onto himself harder, your soaked panties leaving a stain on his jeans. 

“Do you want your clothes off or not?” He asks, his voice low and deep. You swallow hard, nodding as you grind against him again. “‘M sorry, Beom,” you whimper, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “I’ll be good. I promise.” 

Your words send a shiver down his spine, and before you can react, he stands up from the couch, holding you up by your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist immediately, holding onto him tighter. You don’t need to watch where he is going to know, your back hitting the soft mattress of your bed soon after. 

He pulls down your skirt without a moment of hesitation, his own clothes going off right after. You watch him from the bed, admiring him just like you did the first time you saw him naked. You could never get enough of the view. You hook your fingers with your panties, hoping to get them down as well but he stops you before you can do anything, pinning your hands on your side. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“Undressing so you can fuck your jealousy into me?” You grin. You’re a brat but god, does it drive him crazy. “I want them on,” he says, not waiting for your reaction as he spreads your legs apart and kneels between them. Your eyes widen as he rubs his leaking cock on top of your already soaked panties, moans leaving your lips again. 

“Beomie, please,” you beg, trying to close your legs from all the pleasure. He holds them open for you, paying it no attention as his eyes focus on your pussy. “Please, what, hm?” 

You whine as you try thrusting your hips against him, making him scoff. “Words, love. I want words.” Your cheeks turn red as you watch him, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. “Please just fuck me. I can’t– I need more.” 

Beomgyu smirks, lifting your panties just enough to slide his cock under them, rubbing it over your clit. “Are you going to wear something less revealing for your next performance?” There’s nothing you can do about your outfit or the attention it brings you, you both know that, and still, a broken “yes,” leaves your lips, finally giving you the pleasure you’ve been asking for as he slides his tip in. 

Your eyes roll back and you thrust your hips against his, feeling him sink deeper. “So good, baby,” he groans, his hand finding yours as he slowly thrusts into you, picking up his speed before you can get used to it. Your moans and his groans soon echo through the whole room, driving you crazier by each second. 

You barely register his movements except for the way he moves in you until he leans closer to you and claims your lips again. When he pulls back, you notice your torn panties wrapped around his fist. Your eyes widen but before you can say something, another harsh thrust comes your way and all that leaves your mouth is a broken gasp. 

“Beom, I’m gonna–” your voice breaks again and he just hums, his right hand moving between your bodies to rub gentle circles on your clit with his thumb. “Come for me, baby,” he coos, kissing you again. His lips move against yours in an open mouthed kiss, swallowing every one of your moans as you fall apart under him. 

He grabs your waist firmly, holding you in place as he chases his own high, cursing under his breath and mumbling barely audible praises before filling you up, his thrusts now soft and slow so you can both ride out your orgasms. You whine in protest when he pulls out and you feel his cum spilling out, clenching around nothing. 

“I think I’ll have to ask for more sexy concepts and choreographies if it gets you like this,” you exhale a laugh and he glares at you immediately. “Don’t even joke about that. I will hunt down anyone who thought it was a good idea to make you dance like that for other people.” You chuckle, pulling him closer to you and brushing your lips against his. “I know you will, baby. That’s why I love you.”

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez @bamgeutsz @lovingbeomgyudayone @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 @saejinniestar @dawngyu @xylatox @thetxtdevil @biteyoubiteme @heesmiles @t-102 ✶⋆ Want to get notified? Join taglist here!

[sepptember]

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 — touya todoroki

↳ ꒰ I'ma put some goddamn moves on you, babe, i know you. need it.꒱

#𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 — touya has never been one for school dances, or school anything, really. but you love them. and he begins to think he might love you.

↳ #𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒 — he accidentally hurts readers feelings for like a second, swearing, most definitely ooc touya bc idk how to write him, cheesy content proceed with caution lol.

requested by @rueclfer who's probably touya's #1 fan. mostly smau, but ther3 is a written portion at the end! sorry if it's messy, it's not proofread.

“You look,” You have to pause, your brain cogs turning frantically in search of the right word. “Nice. Like, really fucking nice.”

He scoffs, sending you a look that screams annoyed, but you can tell it's faux. “Yeah? What's What's supposed to mean?”

“It means you look gross most of the time.”

“Wow.”

You laugh, the sound much louder than you intended. “You really are a baby.”

He brings his hand up to your face and pushes you away, earning him a hard swat at the wrist. “Seriously, though. You do look really nice.”

You finally take a moment to look at all of him; the way his silver hair seems less frizzy, the soft hug of his suit around his surprisingly thick arms—holy shit—and you only now realize the color of his suit. “Wait, are you matching me? Is that why you asked to see what I was wearing?”

His gaze doesn't leave you. “Does it matter?”

“I suppose not.”

It did matter, because he came here. The shade isn't even off, the fabric almost identical—he didn't just get it willy nilly, he put thought into it.

“The dance doesn't start till 9? It's 4:30.”

“Pictures.”

“My mother could get us better pictures.” He scoffs again, taking a good look at his surroundings. He ignores the look Keigo throws at him—the one that screams I told you so.

Touya hadn't really planned on this. Not when you asked him for theme ideas, or when you told him about post-prom. But it wasn't a spur of the moment decision. The night he called you, when you started crying and told him about how something so silly had you stressed beyond belief. And it wasn't something silly to you, you liked this stuff, no matter how stupid he thought it was. You enjoyed getting all dolled up, the pictures, the people, the dance and the music, the stupid after-prom or whatever it was.

And he didn't want to admit it until then, but he liked it. He liked the excitement in your voice or the way you ranted on and on about the decoration ideas you'd come up with, the food, the stupid games. And he wanted to see you. He wanted to see you in person, get a long look of how fucking stunning you are in this color.

And when he manages to get his hands on you, now hours later, he doesn't know why he'd been so adamant about not coming to this dance.

You're looking at him—so sweet, so pretty—with your arms wrapped loosely around his neck and he wants to kick himself.

You're smiling at him like he's everything.

“Can I be honest?”

You hum as if you're thinking about it. “I dunno, Touya. Honesty isn't your strong suit.”

“Shut the fuck up, don't ruin this.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You amend yourself, your hand moving to pat his shoulder. “What's up?”

“I like this.” He doesn't miss the way you furrow your brows.

“The dance?” He almost says no.

“I like this.” His hands tighten carefully around your hips, pulling you slightly closer to him. “I like us.”

He says the last part quieter, making sure to move his face closer, the words mumbled against the shell of your ear. Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Your smile managed to get so much bigger, your eyes meeting his the second he pulled his head back, and he wouldn't trade the sight for anything.

“Show me.”

He can't help but lean in again, this time for a kiss.

[chigsprincess]

helloaaa how r u?? I want to request headcannons of bllk boys, mainly shidou but u can add whoever else, in a relationship with someone with LONG HAIR. like tailbone length… I’ve seen some of ur work and I’ve been fascinated..

thank u and have a wonderful day! c:

Rapunzel, Rapunzel

a/n: hii! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you have an awesome day as well! to be fair my hair was always on the shorter side but i asked around in my friend group, so hopefully i still managed to make it relatable for the long haired baddies out there!

how they’d act with a s/o who has extra long hair -r.shidou, h.chigiri, s.itoshi, y.isagi

Shidou Ryusei

He is having a field day with it. Literally never gets bored of using it as a beard.

Ties bows in it on a daily basis and just accepts the beating that comes as a consequence.

Has mad respect for you. It’s a nightmare to maintain, and he makes it worse.

Always begs for matching pink highlights, you should just give in at this point.

Beats up creepy strangers who try to touch it without permission on the streets.

Tries to braid both of your hair together in one of those ‘best friends’ hairstyles.

Definitely says shit like: “I want to die tangled in that thing.” all the time.

Chigiri Hyoma

You two have dedicated hair care days, where you help each other put hair masks on and blow dry the other’s hair for them.

You are partly the reason he is growing his own hair out. Definitely wants to catch up to you.

Every day is a scavenger hunt for hair ties in your home.

You two always wear matching hairstyles when you go out on a date.

He hides under it when he is cuddling you from behind.

Secretly uses your expensive conditioner sometimes.

Itoshi Sae

Had no idea it would be this annoying to live with you.

Finds hair in every meal he has, even if he wasn’t in your immediate vicinity when he started eating.

“Day 289 of unclogging the drains I’m starting to lose hope.”

Complains about it all the time, but he finds it extremely beautiful. When you mention cutting it, so it won’t bother him anymore, he instantly says no.

You leave him cute hearts on the shower wall made from the hairs that stuck on it. He is absolutely done with you.

Gets you one of those pet hair removal rolls for every major occasion, along with your actual presents.

Smirks every time you get caught up on the doorknob or in a zipper.

Isagi Yoichi

Thinks you look like a goddess. (and the girl from the ring sometimes.) It looks so pretty and majestic, he adores it so much.

Takes the time to learn about how to properly care for long hair and helps you out on days you are stressed.

Likes it best if you let it hang loose and don’t tie it up, even if the wind blows it into his mouth every 30 seconds.

Likes burying his face in it after a long day of practice. It’s so soft and smells so nice.

Loves public appearances where he can take you with him. Enjoys how mesmerized the people are when they see your hair for the first time.

Calls you his Disney princess all the time.

word count: 487

[nicolewritesthings]

Lost Love

Summary: After moving to the same city, you and Steve quickly fall back into an easy friendship, but will it stay that way?

Can be read as a stand alone friends to lovers piece or as the final part of the Lost Love series. Either way, get ready for some serious situationship feels. 13k words (buckle up)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader, a lil smutty, a lil angsty, a lil fluffy

a/n: I had way too much fun writing this. Clearly this is one of my favorite tropes because I totally pull from some of my fave movies. I've had a great time writing this and an even greater time interacting with all of you!!! thank you all for reading my work. There will be more to come :)

June 1992 All the windows in Steve and Robin's apartment are wide open. Two metal fans worked overtime to flow in whatever cool breeze Chicago could offer this summer. You and Steve are glued to the television, watching the NBA Championship game - Chicago Bulls versus the Portland Trail Blazers.

You and Steve are very serious about the Bulls. It was something you bonded over in the early days of your friendship. Your dad was from Chicago, so you grew up a Bulls fan while Steve wanted to be a contrarian, and the Indiana Pacers sucked in the 80s, so he vowed his allegiance to the Bulls, and baby, being their fan was so sweet right now.

The jersey you gave Steve for his 19th birthday clung to his body, sticking to him due to the humidity in the air. You sat literally on the edge of the couch cushion, palms sweaty and pressing to your knees as the fourth quarter slowly came to a close with Bulls up. Steve stands beside you, hands on his hips and an empty beer bottle in the back pocket of his short shorts, tan thighs on display.

"They're going to three-peat," you say, eyes still glued to the screen.

Steve shushes you, "Don't jinx it."

You point to the screen as the time slips below a minute, "it's happening!"

With less than twenty seconds to go, the Bulls are only up by two points. You and Steve hold your breath as Michael Jordan steps up to the free-throw line. He sinks the first shot in. You bring a hand up to your mouth, the tension too much to handle. Steve puts his hands up to his head, stressed.

"He's doing it," you say, "it's happening-"

"Shhhh!" Steve waves you off, but you don't care. You're way too excited.

Jordan makes the second free throw and you jump up from your seat. Steve puts a nervous hand on your shoulder, eyes glued to the screen.

The Blazers take the ball down the court and they miss! The Bulls have the ball, they run out the clock, and they have it! They win the final game!

You and Steve jump up in excitement, cheering and hollering. He pulls you into a hug and you both jump around, holding onto each other tightly. You don't even notice as the front door opens and Robin walks in.

She slips off her shoes and looks over at the two of you freaking out over the win. Robin shakes her head, "you two are such freaks."

Steve breaks away from you and points at Robin, "We won!!!!!!"

You grab two beers, crack them open, and hand one to Steve who takes it happily. You toss one to Robin and she barely catches it. Steve crashes his bottle against yours and you both sip in celebration of this big win.

Safe to say that you're first week in Chicago is going great.

July 1992 The hot air is thick, making Steve’s dirty t-shirt stick to his body even more than it was during the pickup game. He says his goodbyes to the neighborhood guys as he exits the court, basketball tucked under his arm.

The sun sets as Steve makes his usual walk home. A small breeze blows past him, causing just the slightest bit of relief from the summer humidity.

He smiles, thinking about how great the summer has been so far. He's teaching summer classes in the morning to middle school kids and has the rest of the day to fill his time with whatever he wants. He mostly sees you or Robin, and Amanda.

Amanda, Amanda, Amanda. Things with her are going well, steady. She’s been back and forth between the city and her hometown now that she has the summer off. She hasn’t invited Steve home yet to meet her parents. She says it’s a big step in her family. Steve thought they were at that point, but she’s not as serious about him as he thinks. It should ring alarm bells in his head but he’s not completely bothered by it.

The relationship was still good, easy, nice. That’s what he should want, right? Easy like his parents. Not hard and sporadic like it was with you.

Steve enters his apartment building and jogs up the steps to his unit, feeling the air getter hotter as he rises. The phone starts to ring as he opens the front door. He rushes over to the kitchen and picks it up to hear your frantic voice on the other line.

"If you don't hear from me in three hours, it means I've gone missing and have most likely been murdered," you say. Steve quickly realizes you're being neurotic and not frantic at all.

He chuckles, "Okay, I don't even know where to start with this one."

"I'm going on a blind date," you explain. Steve pauses, unsure of what to think. Then he pauses some more, unsure of why he's pausing in the first place. You can date, that's normal, and he shouldn't feel some type of way about it. Does he feel some type of way? He clearly feels something toward the idea of you dating because he did pause and-

"Steve? You there?"

"Yeah, sorry," he crosses his arms, "what's his name? Just in case you do go missing."

You groan, "Brandon, that's all I know. We're meeting at Carmichael's, so come looking for me there."

Steve wants to laugh, imagining what you're doing on the other line right now. He pictures you all ready for your date, waiting by the door on your phone, nose scrunched up because you're nervous. He knows you're being serious because of all the crime books you read.

You were nervous for your first date in Chicago and truthfully, you just wanted to talk to Steve. He would make you feel better.

"Don't worry," he says smiling, "he won't be a total weirdo and murder you. He'll love you. Who wouldn't?"

You smile, nodding your head. You grab your bag from the hook, "thanks, really. Okay, I gotta go. I'll call you in like 3 or 4 hours."

"Woah, woah, woah," Steve jokes, "this Brendon guy is going to have you out past midnight? On the first date?"

You laugh, "First of all, it's Brandon and secondly, fuck off. Ok, byeeeeeeeeeeeee."

"Have fun, byyeeee-" he sings into the phone until it clicks. Steve sets down the phone, smiling a little too wide.

August 1992 "He said I was high maintenance, can you believe that?" You ask from the passenger seat. A bag of grapes sits on your lap. You pop one in your mouth, angrily chewing. Steve sits quietly in the driver's seat, biting his tongue and trying not to smirk. You notice, hitting him on the shoulder. He winces, "Ow!"

"Say I'm not high maintenance!"

"But you're a little high maintenance!"

Your jaw drops, dramatically showing your offense to his statement.

"There are two types of women," Steve explains, "low maintenance girls, and then there's you, high maintenance."

You look out the window at the flat Indiana fields. You two were driving home for the weekend before the kids went back to school.

"Like when it comes to food," he continues, "You don't like tomatoes or onions on your burger and want extra pickles. But, you want the tomatoes on the side, not the onions, because you like the option of tomatoes. You want whipped cream for your shake but on the side. You refuse to buy meat from any other place besides a local deli and even then you get it cut a specific way, you should really become a butcher at this point."

You shrug, "I like things a certain way."

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, "see. High maintenance. It's not a bad thing. I'm the same way about my hair."

He pops a grape into his mouth and you laugh, "Believe me, Farrah Fawcett, I know how particular you are about your hair."

September 1992 Lake Michigan is beautiful this time of year, you think as you and Steve walk along the lakefront. The great expanse of water on one side, the gorgeous city view on the other.

Steve tells you about his holiday plans or lack thereof. His girlfriend, who you swear you really like, is going home for Thanksgiving and didn't invite him. He wasn't so happy with that.

"It's not like she skipped over the conversation entirely," Steve huffs, "she outright told me I wasn't invited."

"Like in a rude way or just plain and simple," you ask, eyes trained on the horizon ahead of you.

"She said it was too soon. That, in her family, inviting a boyfriend to Thanksgiving doesn't happen without a ring on her finger."

You're careful with your words, not sure what to say. So you settle on, "That's intense."

Steve waves his hands in front of him as he speaks, "and I am so not ready for that. I mean, you don't think that was her way of telling me she wants me to propose?"

You want to jump into the frigid water at just the thought of Steve proposing to sweet, beautiful, smart Amanda. But you keep your cool, not letting him see that you feel physically nauseous at the idea of it. So you think about how a friend would answer because you two have become such good friends the last few months. But a question does gnaw at you, and it's honestly a question you'd ask any of your actual friends.

"Are you guys there yet? Like have you thought about getting engaged?"

And to your shameful pleasure, Steve doesn't even miss a beat when he says, "I haven't even thought about it."

You hide your smile, "then don't worry about it. She's just setting a boundary. Amanda doesn't seem like the type to play games like that."

He nods, slowly feeling better about the whole thing because of you.

"Guess I'll be spending Thanksgiving in Hawkins then," he says.

You nudge his side with yours, "there's always room for you at my place. I'm sure my parents would be more than happy to see you."

"You guys still make cornbread?"

"Oh, you know it."

Steve pumps his arm up in victory, "I'm so fucking there."

October 1992 The electronics store was lined with the newest television models, speakers, and VHS players. You gaze up at the wall of television sets, lost on which one you could possibly choose. The options were endless and all you wanted to do was watch your movies and All My Children.

Steve comes back with the store manager and points toward the TV they thought best. The manager picks up the box and moves it over to the checkout counter.

You turn to Steve, "Wait, I didn't even pick."

"Relax," he smiled his usual Harrington smile, "I got the very best for ya."

You narrow your eyes at him and he puts his hands up in surrender.

"Within your budget," he explains.

"Thank you," you mouth, brushing past him and toward the register to pay.

Steve settles in beside you as you write out a check. He picks up a tabloid magazine and holds it up to show you. "Okay, who'd you rather," Steve points to the front page of the magazine, "Keanu or Kevin Costner?"

You tilt your head, thinking long and hard about this. "Hmmm," you say,

"Keanu."

"No way you don't pick Costner. You made me watch Robin Hood like four times this summer," he exclaims.

The manager thanks you and pushes the TV toward you guys. Steve slides it off the counter not missing a beat.

"But I just rewatched Point Break, so I'm all about Keanu right now," you smirk, holding the door open for Steve. He repositions the heavy TV on his hip as you walk down the busy street.

He laughs, "I think you're missing the point of that movie."

"What? Like I'm not supposed to gawk over the hot men doing crazy stuff?"

"It's an action movie about sick stunts and cool dudes."

"A woman directed it, Steve. It's literally made for women to look at beautiful men."

"Even then, I'm more of a Swayze guy."

"I respect that. Okay, Demi Moore or Julia Roberts?"

"Easy. Demi Moore."

"That's just your nostalgia talking."

"I'm not saying Julia Roberts isn't gorgeous. But, yeah you're right, Demi is the forever crush."

"I feel like she'd go for you if you met in a bar or something."

"And have Bruce Willis beat my ass for looking at his wife? No, thank you. I've seen Die Hard and that guy's a beast."

"Ooooh, I change my answer to him."

Steve stops in his tracks, "Bruce Willis?! You're hot for Bruce Willis?!"

People glare at you two as they pass by on the sidewalk. You throw apologies their way while tugging Steve to keep moving.

"He looks great fighting all those bad guys!"

"But he's bald!"

"Not everyone can have beautiful luscious hair like you, Stevie."

"Well, no shit. But, really I don't get it. He looks so old too."

"Older guys know what they're doing."

"Okay, what the hell does that mean?"

"I just think Bruce Willis knows how to handle a woman, that's all."

"What? Like in bed?"

"Yes, in bed, Steve. Clearly, Demi Moore knows something we don't."

Steve follows as you climb the stairs up your apartment building. "You're saying you can look at a man and know if he's good at sex?" he asks.

"Well, I mean, not all the time. People can surprise you, but yes, you can get a vibe from a guy. You can tell if he's going to make you orgasm or not. Usually, it's a no."

That leaves Steve dumbstruck for a bit. He contemplates your sentiment as you let him into your apartment.

He sets the TV down and begins unwrapping it.

He huffs, "So how many guys have made you cum?"

You look up at him, pausing midway as you unzip your boot, "Steve."

"I'm asking as a concerned friend," he explains.

You slip off the boots and walk over to sit on the couch, "I don't know, like three maybe four."

"Maybe four? How can a guy maybe make that happen?" He's dead serious, like this is all science and totally not blurring the lines of friendship.

"Fine, a solid three guys have made me orgasm," you pause, looking up at him through your dark eyelashes. You shouldn't say the next part, but you do anyway, "including you."

Steve shouldn't like your response as much as he does, but the pride practically beams out of him. His ego physically grew as soon as you said that he's one of the few people to know you like that, to make you achieve something so intimate.

He smirks, turning back to the TV and moving some wires into place. You roll your eyes at him, "don't be gross."

"I'm not being gross," he turns, frowning, "actually I'm quite sad that these other men you've slept with haven't delivered in a way that you so deserve."

You shrug, "it's common for girls. I mean, most guys won't even go down on a girl."

"That's just crazy," Steve shakes his head, "that's half the fun."

You take a sip of your water as he continues talking about this totally inappropriate subject in the most clinical way.

"There are other ways to make your girl cum, like during the actual act of it. Guys are so dumb," he says.

"That's a total myth," you shake your head, "a female orgasm during penetration? Yeah right."

He turns to you in shock, "What? Are you serious?"

Heat creeps up your neck as a hint of embarrassment settles in. You nod shyly, "well it's never happened to me, so..."

Steve stands up, walking towards your seat on the couch. "No one's ever, you know," he lifts up two fingers, moving them together in small circles, "done the dirty DJ?"

He learned that one after you two were sleeping together because you have no clue what the fuck a dirty DJ is.

Steve sits beside you and grabs your glass, pouring out the water into his cup. He lifts the glass between you two, giving you a worried look as you stare back at him in utter confusion. "I'll show you," he says.

"So let's say you're with a guy and he's taking you from behind," he says casually. You laugh in disbelief, "romantic."

"This isn't romance, this is sex," he says in total seriousness, "and you're like back to chest, probably kneeling because that's easiest."

He moves the glass, sticking two fingers inside it, "That's his dick inside you if the description wasn't clear enough."

"Thank you for this visual," you deadpan, eyes locked on his movements.

Steve settles his two fingers on the glass now, toward the rim. He slowly moves them in circles, "now, there's a misconception to be gentle with the clitoris. But, you actually need to be rough with it." He picks his pace up, moving his fingers back in forth at an aggressive pace. Your breath hitches in your throat.

"Get a little rude with it. Really, get after it," he says, his movements coming to an end. He still holds the glass up, so you mimic his moves, circling the glass with your fingers like he did.

"Like that?"

"Yeah, like that," Steve smiles, "you're a natural."

"Hmmm," you keep circling your fingers, thinking about how on your next hook up you'll have to instruct the guy to do just this.

Steve watches as you move your fingers. "Perfect," he says, his mind slowing down as the moment settles over him.

You rhythmically move your fingers against the glass he's holding. A silence settles over the both of you as the tension builds up. You let your mind wander to Steve and his fingers, pumping into the glass. He starts to think of you and his fingers on you-

He sets the glass down abruptly, "I'm gonna go home."

You stand up, "Me too!"

Steve stands up, grabbing his coat, "No, no. You live here."

You sit back down and grab a pillow, "yes I do. Bye!"

He quickly leaves your apartment. You look over at the mostly set-up television and groan, sinking back into the couch.

November 1992 Steve sits beside Amanda on her couch. He stares ahead at the moving box tucked under the dining room table. How long has that been there for?

Amanda continues with her speech, "I'm sorry I didn't do this sooner, Steve."

He looks over at her. His tone comes out harsher than he intends, "Exactly how long have you been wanting to break up with me?"

"Steve," she says again, putting a hand on his knee. He stares back at her, urging her to answer his question.

"I swear I only found out about the position a couple of weeks ago, but," she sighs, "I guess I've been feeling distant from you for a little bit now."

"And you're just bringing this all up now?"

Amanda nods. Steve rubs his hands over his face, taking a moment to grasp the situation he's in.

"I don't understand," he says, "things were going fine."

"We've been dating for nearly a year and you haven't even told me you loved me yet," she says, hurt evident on her face.

"But we're not there yet, are we?" Steve asks, genuinely unsure.

She nods, "I was there. I've been there for a while now. Thought you would catch up."

Steve frowns, hating himself for being so oblivious to her feelings. How could he not know that she loved him? Is he that shallow to not even notice?

"Amanda, I'm so sorry," he starts but she cuts him off.

"It's okay, I honestly don't know if I would call it love, you know? I guess what I'm trying to say is that I don't want just a nice relationship. I want someone who knows I'm the one from the moment they meet me. I want a love that's not easy, but all-consuming, something that drives you crazy," she admits.

Amanda looks up at Steve, "does that even make sense?"

He nods, completely understanding the type of love she's talking about. He only knows that love because he's had it. He has it - with you.

Later that night After leaving Amanda, Steve slowly meanders back to his place, taking the time to digest what just happened. His stomach aches with the pain only felt after getting broken up with like that. Told that you're not the one. Did he even think that she was the one? What does that even mean?

Steve has always had the same vision for his future - to be a family man, have a wife and a few kids. He knew the attributes he wanted in the future mother of his children. Someone maternal, kind, patient, caring. It was all very logical, a future that any nice girl could slip into. Amanda was a great contender, but she didn't want to just slip into Steve's fantasy. She wants an all-consuming once-in-a-lifetime sort of love, and frankly, Steve doesn't blame her. He just never thought that kind of love was for him. Well, not after he lost you.

He shakes his head, crossing the street. He squints, realizing the street he was on, that without even thinking, his subconscious had led him to you.

Steve presses the buzzer to your apartment over and over again. He looks up at your window and the light is on, but you're not responding to him. He knocks on the front door again, to catch your attention, but instead, your downstairs neighbor, Mrs. Shirley, opens her window.

"What the hell are you making all this noise for?" she yells at Steve. He jumps back, "sorry. You know my friend, she lives above you."

"Clearly she doesn't want to see you if she's not letting you up, kid," Mrs. Shirley says.

Steve shakes his head, jogging down the stairs and reaching into the street to grab some rocks. Mrs. Shirley watches on.

He throws the rocks at your window until it's opening. Your head pops out and eyes land on him, "Steve?"

"I've been ringing you for the past ten minutes!"

"The buzzer's broken!" you explain.

"Will you let this damn boy in?" Mrs. Shirley interjects, grumpily.

You peer down at her and smile, "Sorry Mrs. Shirley!" You drop your keys down to Steve, "Come on up!"

Steve rushes up the stairs, waving at your nosey neighbor as he lets himself into your building.

You immediately notice how disheveled Steve looks as he enters your apartment. His hair is a mess, dark circles are evident under his eyes, and even his outfit isn't put together as usual.

Unbeknownst to you, Steve is not only upset from the breakup. But, he's mostly riddled with confusion. Does he act on his constant attraction to you? That ten-year-long inexplicable pull toward you? Those feelings that never seem to leave him?

He fiddles with your keys for a moment then looks up at you, "Amanda broke up with me."

You eye him, your mind procuring a logical reaction of sadness for your friend while your heart thumps hard against your chest, pumping with the familiar feeling of - what if?

You decide to lean into your logical feelings and say, "Oh Steve. I'm sorry." You expect him to walk toward you and sulk into your arms, but he doesn't. Instead, he remains a healthy distance away from you.

"What happened?" you ask.

Steve looks away, feeling his breath catch in his throat, "She, uh, says I'm not the one. That she's looking for someone who makes her crazy and that she can't live without."

Then you see his chest rise up and down, eyes growing watery as his next words come out shakily, "I guess she can live without me, huh?"

You frown, reaching out to close the gap between you two. You grab his hand and pull Steve in, wrapping your arms around him. He lets himself fall into you, resting his chin on the side of your head, tears falling down his cheeks onto your hair.

He's not sure why he's crying. He didn't think it would affect him this much, but seeing you immediately broke him down, allowed him to let himself feel all the emotions.

You and Steve stayed like that for a while, holding each other in your entryway, something major solidifying in your relationship. For the first time, neither of you wanted anything more from this emotional exchange.

In the past, whenever something bad happened and you needed each other, that's when the intimacy would start, two scared people finding comfort in each other's beds. But this, comforting Steve now, didn't lead to anything more. You two hadn't even thought about it. Instead, you were there for him like a good friend would be.

December 1992 Christmas in Florida was a first for you, the sun warm enough in the daytime for you to dip in the pool with all your nieces and nephews. After a long day, you found yourself sunken into your sister's couch watching old romance movies.

It was just past eleven when your family turned in for the night, but you stayed up to watch Brief Encounter, a 1945 film about two strangers falling in love over time - despite their current circumstances. Whether it was subconscious or not, you called Steve, urging him to tune into that channel and watch it with you.

So you sat on the couch, a throw pillow wrapped up around you and phone held lazily to your ear as Steve joined you from his bed in Chicago, duvet tucked up to his chin as he watched the small television set at the foot of his bed.

"This is sad, like totally sad," Steve sighed into the phone.

"I think it's romantic," you refute.

"They're practically cheating on their spouses."

"Talking isn't cheating."

"These two want to do more than just talk."

"Fine, they may be emotionally cheating, but that doesn't mean they can't be together!"

"Here's what's going to happen," he states, "they'll break up their marriages thinking that their love is stronger, then they'll finally hook up and realize it's terrible and they're actually not meant to be together and-"

"Oh, shut up," you laugh, "you're jaded because of the breakup."

"Love isn't real and I'll die alone," Steve breathes out dramatically.

You smirk, "that's not true. You'll have me bothering you for an eternity."

"A man could be so lucky," he smiles softly as the movie goes on. The two of you cozily watch on either side of the country.

New Year's Eve 1993 The top floor of the Sears Tower is packed with partygoers dancing, drinking, and ready to ring in the new year. You and Steve stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, dressed in your very best holiday attire, gazing out at the incredibly lit-up skyline.

Steve looks over at you as you lift your champagne flute to point at Lake Michigan. Your hair is up high in a slick ponytail, and diamond-crusted earrings dangle down your neck, leading his eyes down to your exposed collarbones. He steals a glance at your figure in this dress, the black satin hugging you in all the right ways.

"It's so fucking dark!" you exclaim at Steve, "like a huge mass of nothingness!"

He can't help but laugh at your usual crudeness breaking his trance. He shouldn't be looking at you like this anyway, Steve thinks, not with you two being such good friends.

Friends don't let themselves linger on bare shoulders and long legs.

Steve looks back out the window with you, "it's pretty scary if you think about it. Miles and miles of water, we can't even see the other side."

You shake your head, flabbergasted by the vastness of Lake Michigan.

Steve steals another glance at you, noticing the shimmer on your cheeks. He smiles and says gently, "You look beautiful."

You look up at Steve, letting his compliment sink in. His eyes bore into yours, really looking at you. Looking at you like no one else has before. You feel a pull towards him, that same magnetic pull you’ve felt your entire life basically, but it drags you in with more force during moments like these. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t feel the pull toward Steve strengthen in the last few months. Before you can respond, Robin's voice hits your ears.

"This party is faaaaaaaaancy," she says with her mouth full of hors d'oeuvres.

You take a small step back, not realizing how close you and Steve had drifted together. Robin turns to you, holding up a full plate of snacks, "is your date like the prince of Chicago or something?"

You laugh, "No, well, not exactly."

Connor, the new guy you've been seeing comes from an aristocratic family that helped develop the city back in the day. They were part owners of the building you were standing in.

"Either way, thank him for me. This party is mint," Robin excitedly approves, downing her drink.

Steve successfully keeps his eye roll to himself. Sure, he knew you were dating someone, but did it have to be another rich prick with the ability to sweep you off on his private jet whenever he wanted to?

"It's almost midnight!" you exclaim, scanning the room, "I better go find Connor. I'll see you guys later!"

And you were off, floating through the crowd to find your billionaire boyfriend. Steve finally let that eye roll out. Robin noticed, shaking her head at his self-inflicted misery. He turns to her, "Please, I don't want to hear it tonight."

She shrugs, hiding her smile, "I didn't say anything."

Unlike other times, Robin drops the subject of Steve's feelings for you, knowing he's miserable enough tonight having to watch you with another guy.

And that's exactly how Steve spends his final hours of 1992. He stands off to the side as the crowd around him counts down to midnight. His eyes find you in the middle of the dance floor, a big smile on your lips as you count down too, wrapped up in Conor's arms. Cheers and confetti erupt around the room, but Steve can only watch you.

February 1993 You float around the large department store, sifting through business attire while Steve happily follows behind you like a puppy. You hold up a grey pencil skirt, "what about this one?"

Steve narrows his eyes, "is that a trick question?"

You shake your head, urging him to answer.

"It's the same one you picked out like five minutes ago," he says.

"This one has a slit. See," you point at the cut in the fabric. Steve feigns understanding, "Ah, yes! A slit! How could I miss that."

You groan, adding it to the selections already hanging from your arm. Steve grabs the clothes from you and holds them so you don't have to. You continue onto the next rack.

"When did we get to the point in our lives where we have more work clothes than fun clothes?" you huff out.

Steve chuckles, "Welcome to your mid-twenties, babe."

You suck in your bottom lip, trying to hide your small reaction to the new nickname. Steve's picked it up, recently calling you babe every so often. Babe, you've got something there, or see you soon babe. It was dizzying sometimes, but you loved it.

"I need more going-out clothes," you state, sifting through a rack of gorgeous dresses.

"Right, for your hot dates with Casanova Connor," Steve says, a definite bitterness in his tone, "I'm sure he'd buy you a whole new wardrobe if you'd ask."

"Actually," you give Steve a look, resting a hand on the rack. Steve stands beside you, head tilted. You sigh, "We broke up."

Steve opens his mouth to speak, but can't seem to find the words. You notice his temporary brain malfunction and try hard for it not to make you happy. But it does - just a little bit.

Finally, Steve finds his footing and asks, "What? When did this happen?" There's genuine concern behind his question. Although the happiness does some to be creeping in.

You shrug, "the other night."

"And you didn't call me? I could have gone over with snacks or-"

"It's okay. Really. I ended things with him," you pick up a dress and scan it over, "so I wasn't that torn up about it."

Now happiness has fully set in Steve and he does his best to hide it. "Oh," he says, a smug smile on his face, "well, good for you then."

"Thank you," you raise your eyebrows at him, wanting nothing more than to change this conversation. So you pick up another dress and ask for Steve's opinion, the two of you continuing to roam the store like two best friends.

But Steve couldn't be more excited to wade into a new territory with you. One where you're both single and closer than ever.

March 1993 The Spring recital at Steve's school is in full swing. He wanted you to hang out backstage to watch the show while he corralled the children, making sure everything ran smoothly.

You watch as Steve kneels in front of a little boy with glasses and a cello bigger than him, giving him a much-needed pep talk. Steve was great at this, you think, letting your mind wander to how good of a father he'd be.

Your eyes linger on Steve's arms fitted into his dress shirt, the sleeves cuffed up around his biceps. His reading glasses sit atop his perfectly fluffed hair. The dress pants tight around his cute little butt in this position.

Steve stands up, making his way toward you. He lets out a breath, "That kid is a ball of anxiety but honestly the best one in the show. The bastard's a little Mozart."

You reach out, your palm landing softly on his bicep, "you're doing great. The kids, the show, everything is amazing, Steve."

He smiles reveling in the compliment before another little voice calls out for him, "Mr. Harrington!!!" Steve gives you a look before dashing into the dressing room.

You smile to yourself, not noticing Tabitha, a nosy fifth grader, appear by your side. She looks up at you, "are you Mr. Harrington's girlfriend?"

You startle a bit, looking down to find Tabitha staring up at you. "Oh hi," you smile, "but no, I'm his friend."

"That's what they all say," the young girl says, rolling her eyes.

Your jaw drops a bit, "excuse me?"

She sighs like an older fed-up woman would, "My dad had a friend like you. Now I have to call her step-mommy."

And with that, Tabitha walks onto stage to start her piano piece, leaving you completely dumbfounded by the audacity of this little girl.

April 1993 For whatever hellish reason, a heatwave had hit Chicago in the middle of Spring. Luckily, the hottest day was a Saturday, meaning you and Steve were posted up on the sandy shore of Lake Michigan.

Steve wasn't being slick. You could feel his eyes on you a lot more these days, between stolen glances at your lips and a hot gaze from across the room. But today, you could sense him peeking over at you in your little red bikini all morning.

To be fair, you were leaving quite little to the imagination in an attempt to get as good of a tan as possible. Also, a part of you knew that wearing this tiny bikini would send Steve reeling. That, of course, was an even better reason to wear it.

You look up at Steve, catching his eye. He doesn't miss your cheeky smirk as you flip onto your stomach, landing just inches away from him. You scoot closer to let your legs lightly brush up against his, your hips bumping, all while you pretend to read from your book. Like your actions weren’t deliberately trying to evoke something out of Steve.

He couldn’t help but suck in a breath, your skin on his feeling hot and soft. Steve braced himself on his elbows, trying to look anywhere than your perfect ass, perky and on full view in that damn swimsuit.

“Steveeee,” you hummed, still not looking at him.

“Mhmm?”

“Can I have some of your soda?”

He nodded, reaching over to grab the corner store to-go cup. Steve held it toward you. But before he could set it down for you to take, you lifted your head and leaned in toward the cup, your pink lips enclosing around the straw. You looked up at him through dark eyelashes as you took a long sip, sucking on the plastic straw.

Steve held the eye contact, letting time and everything else melt away around you two. You could feel his breath on your face with how close he was.

With a small pop, you pulled your lips away from the straw and smiled at Steve, “Cherry cola.”

“Your favorite,” he says, not missing a beat.

The sun hits your skin perfectly, he thinks, the brightness softening your features. Without thinking, Steve reaches out and trails his knuckle down your arm. You don’t stop him. His touch feels like it has in the past - hot, addicting, it makes you hungry. But this time, and maybe it’s your own delusions, it doesn’t feel fleeting like it used to.

May 1993 Being the youngest of five came with its pros and cons. Getting to dress up in a pretty bridesmaid dress was definitely a pro. But now that your sister was tying the knot, you were the only unmarried one left, which meant a lot of speculation was hurled your way at said sister's wedding.

You knew it could be a bad idea to bring Steve as your date. But the thought of spending a whole weekend alone with your nosy family was downright agonizing, and, truthfully, you wanted him to be your date. Four days away in a quaint little Vermont town with good food, drinks, and your family. How could you not ask him to come with you?

Steve of course jumped at the idea, already making plans to find a tuxedo rental. Your friendship had shifted into that uncharted territory - both of you were single and completely enamored with each other. Constantly hanging out or on the phone, meeting each other after work or on campus to grab a drink, a coffee, lunch, dinner, to go see a movie, to sit on his couch and watch Seinfeld, to chat on your rooftop late into the night, to catch a ballgame, to meet your friends for dancing - the list goes on. You two were basically dating without any of the physical benefits.

And this wedding, well, it did something to both of you. Seeing Steve with your family, looking so good in that tux, basking in all his attention the entire weekend. Your heart practically leaped out of your chest whenever you'd look out into the church crowd and catch him already looking at you. He couldn't take his eyes off you the entire ceremony, letting his daydreams wander to the idea of you and him standing up there, exchanging vows.

He was the perfect date, to no surprise at all, and tonight was no different. The reception was in full swing. The wedding band plays another 80s hit while Steve spins back into his arms. You two have been dancing like fools the whole party, drunk off of champagne and the romance of the weekend.

The band begins to play a slow song and you immediately recognize the melody. Steve pulls you in close, one hand tucked into yours and the other easily clasped against your lower back.

"Of course, they're playing The Cure," he laughs lightly.

You think back to high school and all the times you snuck off to meet Steve in his car. The Cure's album playing as you two got cozy in the backseat.

You scoot in closer, your head falling against his shoulder, his chin grazing your forehead as you sway back and forth. Steve breathes you in, letting himself reveal his thoughts out loud.

"I couldn't listen to them for years," he admits. You stay quiet, a slight sadness creeps up.

He continues, "But then, a couple of years ago, a song from their old album came on the radio. You know, the one we loved, and I couldn't help but dance to it. Like it wasn't the sad thing anymore."

You nod, understanding him completely. For years your past relationship with Steve was clouded by the heartbreaking ending when it never should have been. You two shared a love so sweet, so rare - that's what should be remembered.

You look up at him and smirk, "Better to have love and lost, or however that saying goes."

Steve shakes his head, laughing with you. You settle back into him, head resting against his shoulder again. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as the song comes to a close.

Back at the hotel, which was rented out entirely for the wedding, most of the guests your age were excitedly running toward the pool, jumping in with their black-tie attire and champagne bottles.

Steve grabs your hand as you leap into the pool, only to come up for air and have his hand still in yours. The rest of the night consisted of drinking games, swimming races, and diving competitions - the general after-hours wedding debauchery. You were just happy to have Steve by your side the entire time.

As the night drew later and couples slowly peeled off, the pool calmed and the air grew quiet. You look around, realizing the pool is suddenly empty. Just you and Steve in your beautiful clothes floating in the water.

You kick your legs to keep you afloat, bringing a hand up to push your damp hair out of your eyes. Steve dips his head back into the water to wet his hair. He shakes it as he comes back up, running a hand through his wet locks. Your eyes linger on his movements a little longer than intended. He catches you, flashing a small smile - almost a smirk, but it's softer than that.

"I can't believe my sister's married," you bring up out of the blue, trying to shift the focus.

Steve subconsciously inches closer to you, pushing his hands in the water. He tilts his head, "how do you feel being the only single one left?"

Your head lowers. The water just comes to your chin as you speak, "I don't mind. I guess I want to be sure when I get married. Not like Vanessa." You mention your oldest sister now - she's already on her second marriage before 35.

Steve nods, again floating closer to you, "when did she get married? The first time."

"She was 21," you breathe out, blowing bubbles into the water, "married her high school sweetheart."

"Ah," Steve remembers now. He remembers how you threw your sister's failed marriage at him during one of your break-up fights. She was another reason why you insisted you two were doomed. High school relationships never work, you told him - look at my sister.

"At least she's happy now, ya know, with her new husband," Steve said, trying to reason with you.

You just shrug, "True, but she still had to go through that all so young. That's why I'm waiting. To really make sure."

"My parents met in their thirties," Steve starts, "and it's not like they're any more in love than they would have been if they met in high school."

You gaze at Steve as he speaks, taking in the vulnerability in his tone. He continues, "I don't even think they like each other. They just like the life they've built together. It's safe, comfortable, nice."

Steve pauses, looking at you, "A nice and easy life isn't always what's meant to be. So, maybe your sister had to go through some shit to find who she's actually meant to be with. And now she's happy."

You hold his gaze, really looking at him. His brown eyes peer into yours like they're searching for something. You look away, suddenly noticing how still and quiet the space is around you. The last of the partygoers have left, leaving just you and Steve in the pool. The cool water suddenly feels chilly.

Steve notices your shiver and brushes your arm, "let's get you warmed up."

You follow him out of the pool, happily taking his outstretched hand as you step onto the deck. He grabs a thick towel, placing it around you, rubbing it along your arms to create some warmth. You smile, pulling the towel around yourself. Steve grabs another towel and shakes his hair out like a wet dog, sending water droplets your way.

You shriek, "Steeeeeveeee!" You gently shove him away.

He nuzzles his wet head of hair into your towel-covered shoulder, pulling more giggles out of you. Steve pulls back and rubs the towel against his hair again, this time straightening up. You take in his damp state, his white dress shirt sticking to his skin, practically sheer. You of course notice the chest hair peaking out of the shirt.

Steve bumps your elbow with his, "C'mon. I need to get out of these clothes."

You nod - you couldn't agree more.

In your shared hotel room, you wait in the bathroom. Your robe tugged snuggly against your body. Steve was watching some reruns on TV, you could hear his tired laugh from the other side of the door.

Whether it was on purpose or not - you had left your pajamas in the main room and had to go out to retrieve them while wearing just your robe. Now, this would have been a normal interaction if you and Steve were ever only just friends. But for some reason, you were nervous to pass him with basically no clothes on. You weren't sure you could trust yourself.

So you opened the bathroom door, tugging the belt around your robe a little tighter. You spotted Steve sitting on the edge of the bed in front of the TV. His eyes drifted to you as he heard the door open. You smile, eyeing your suitcase on the other side of the room.

Steve shamelessly looked you up and down, gaze drifting up your bare legs, noting how short that robe was on you. He didn't take his eyes off you as you passed him to get to your suitcase, his mind racing. He took a deep breath, now was not the time to think.

Maybe it was the several drinks in his system or maybe it was being at a wedding with you. Whatever it was, Steve couldn't resist but reach out to you as you walked past him again. His fingers grazed your soft thighs, sinking into you.

You flushed, thankful for the dim light in the room, frozen as Steve latched onto your leg. You turn to stand in front of him, his face looking up at you with such a wild look in his eyes. Nerves flood your system, the good kind.

He carefully brushes his knuckles against your thigh before bringing a hand around it, tugging you toward him. Steve keeps his hand on the back of your leg as he says your name, the sweet sound filling your ears. You practically have him on his knees, he thought. You could do anything, say anything, and he was yours. You wondered if he knew that he had the same effect on you.

Steve lifts his other hand to tug on the hem of your robe, confirming your suspicions. You look down at him, taking in his too-small Hawkins gym shirt and boxers. God, he smells good too. Truthfully, nothing else went through your mind at this moment. Just the sight of him and the desire to feel him on you was all that drove your decision-making.

You lift your hands to the linen belt around your waist, tugging the knot undone, working painfully slow with your fingers. Steve hung onto every movement, his breath halting as you carefully let the belt hang to the side, letting your robe hang open just a bit. You grab Steve's hand, his eyes never leaving yours, as you guide his touch toward your stomach, urging him to push open the robe himself.

Steve slowly pushes the fabric away, opening up the robe to reveal your bare body. You wanted him so badly to pull you on top of him then, but he didn't. Instead, Steve wanted to take this moment in. Slowly, painfully.

The rough pads of his fingers graze over your soft skin. Were you always this soft?

He inches up your belly to your chest, lightly tracing over the curve of your breasts. His other hand leaves your thigh and gently reaches at your hip, taking in the new curve there too. He hates himself for missing these changes. Your body suddenly different than he remembered. But you were still so damn soft.

Your whole body was on fire as Steve drank you all in. His eyes gazing over all of you, bare and ready for him. No one's ever done this to you, not even Steve back in the day. Tonight, he wanted to take his time.

His fingers trail down your hip to touch your inner thigh. You suck in a breath as he leans forward, pressing a kiss just centimeters below your belly button. Steve's fingers dance along your leg, getting higher and higher. You grasp his shoulders, bracing yourself.

"So soft," he says between kisses, "you were always so fucking soft."

Oh fuck, you're a goner.

You step towards him, gripping his face in between your hands. You try to lower yourself onto his lap but he grips your thigh, keeping you in place before him.

He laughs softly, "What's the rush?"

"Steve," you breathe out, giving him a look.

"I've waited nearly a decade for this. Let me take my time," he says confidently. You can't help but give in, releasing your grip from his hair and letting him have his way with you.

Because Steve was right - it had been a long time since either of you had felt this way. Sex was sex, but this, whatever this was with Steve was always different. No matter how much you lied to yourselves, no one ever measured up. Not in life and definitely not in bed.

June 1993 "Fuck, oh my god," you breathe out against Steve's sheets, your cheek pressed into the mattress as he kneels behind you.

Steve's hands grip your hips firmly as he fucks you from behind, your ass slapping against him, skin crashing against skin. He groans, driving deeper into you.

This is what the last three weeks have been like for you and Steve. Dirty, filthy, adult sex that you logistically couldn't have in high school. Or, rather, didn't know how to have yet. Suddenly, you're both grateful for the time apart because now you're adults who actually know what they're doing. Not that King Steve wasn't great in bed, but this Steve - this was a 20-something man who has honed in his naturally intuitive craft of pleasing a woman. And you were loving every second of it.

Steve grabs your throat, pulling you up flush against him. The June air was hotter than usual in his bedroom. Your skin sticky against his as you press your back into his chest. He brings his fingers in between your legs, finding your clit. Definitely not afraid to be rough with his movements.

You let your head rest back on his shoulder, your body bubbling with pleasure, ready to pop at any second. Steve's pace grows faster, sloppier, as you whimper in his ear. Your breaths are soft, your lips perfect and plump, whimpering his name.

"Yes, fuck," you say, your voice loud, "Steve!"

Both of your movements are rough and sloppy as you finish, Steve not far behind you. He bites into your neck as his body shudders against yours, spilling inside you. You let yourself go limp against him, eyes closed and tired from the events of this Saturday morning in bed.

Steve grips your neck again, softer this time. Steadying himself to kiss along the column of your throat to your shoulder. You hum at his sweet touch, the feeling of his lips on your body never getting old.

You look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It's nearly three in the afternoon. You laugh softly, "maybe we should get up."

"Give me a minute," he kisses the nape of your neck, "I'll be ready for another round."

You shake your head, "that would be like the fourth time today!" You pull apart from him, flipping over to sit on the mattress. Steve winces at the loss of contact. He sits back, grabbing absentmindedly at your ankle. He smirks, "I'm down to go all night too. If you are."

"Easy, Harrington. I need to eat."

"Fuel up. Good idea!"

You smile, laying back and pulling the sheets over you as Steve stands up, fumbling around the room for his clothes. He looks back at you and points, "Don't move, baby."

Steve quickly leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. He makes his way into the kitchen to find Robin sitting at the table with her headphones on. She looks up, glaring at Steve. His eyes widen, "have you been here the whole time?"

She slips off her large headphones and Steve can hear the music blasting loudly from them. "I walked in on, Stevie baby please!" Robin mimics you, overdramatizing your sultry voice. Steve cringes as she continues, "But I put music on when you started going off."

She drops her voice an octave to copy Steve now, "fuck, you're so good. This is so-"

"Nope!" Steve waves his hands, "Let's stop this, please!"

Robin bangs her head against the wall behind her, groaning, "While I'm happy you two have reconnected, please for the love of god fuck somewhere else. She lives alone!"

"I thought you were gone all morning!"

"It's literally three in the afternoon!"

You listen to Robin and Steve bicker, smiling to yourself from your comfy spot in Steve's bed.

July 1993 Light jazz plays from a record player in the perfectly decorated living room of your professor, Dr. Cano's, house. Over your first year of law school, she's taken quite an interest in you, and tonight you were her only current student to get an invite to one of her dinner parties - famous for solidifying her mentorship.

The nerves alone could have killed you, but luckily, she told you to bring a date. So, you brought Steve, your...best friend that you've been fucking incessantly for the past two months and have been in love with for maybe forever. You two were comfortable, confident in each other, letting yourselves actually date. You weren't afraid of where this could go with Steve, you were letting your feelings for him take the wheel and it felt great. Nothing was in the way of your love for once.

You watch from the other side of the room as Steve charmed two city big wigs. The older men laughed with Steve, clinking their scotch glasses against his.

Dr. Cano nudges your side with her elbow, "Thank you for coming tonight. Everyone loves you."

You raise your wine glass to meet hers and slip out a polite 'thank you' before taking a sip. You smile, "I was a bit nervous at first, but everyone is so welcoming, they made it easy."

"I try to surround myself with people who, don't get me wrong, are still very pretentious," she laughs, "but actually want to make a difference, and the only way to do that is to bring in new blood. Like you."

You nod, understanding her investment in you. It feels good, knowing that your life is moving in all the right directions.

Dr. Cano points her glass at Steve, "And your boy is such a hit. Talking to Daniel about the Cubs and then immediately diving into public school reform was really the cherry on top for me."

"He doesn't even realize he's talking to the next senator of Illinois," you laugh.

She shakes her head, "No, but that's what makes him so great. He's down to earth but smart. Honestly could have a good career in local politics."

"Don't put ideas into his brain, Professor. You'll have him dreaming of being the president," you smile wide, peering over at Steve. He looks up, meeting your eyes. He gives you a small wave before the other men reel him back into the conversation again.

You can't help but admire him tonight. Steve looks great wearing his dress pants and dark green sweater. His hair was styled back neatly, his face freshly shaved. He insisted on wearing his reading glasses to 'look smarter' but you told him he would probably be the smartest person in the room, teaching a new generation of lawyers and politicians.

Steve and you walk beside each other on the mostly empty sidewalk, his arm loosely wrapped around your shoulders. You tuck in close to his side, the light material of your long black dress lets in a cool breeze.

He presses a soft kiss to your head as you wait for the cars to pass before crossing the street. “Mmm you smell good,” Steve mumbles into your hair.

He breaks away for a moment, grabbing your hand to lead you across the street. Your heels click against the pavement as you scurry onto the sidewalk again, Steve’s hand strong in yours.

It’s all so normal. Like this is how it always should have been between you two. Sometimes you let yourself fall into that trap, into a pool of regret and guilt. If you had only pushed your fears aside and asked Steve to move to New York with you. But you can’t blame your 18-year-old self, and things happen for a reason.

And sometimes when you remember how much time you wasted not being with Steve, you hold him a little closer, kiss him a little harder, love him a little more.

August 1993 Something’s in the air. Maybe it’s the full moon or the humidity that had Steve feeling off all day. You two were going to his coworker’s birthday party on some chic rooftop downtown.

Adding to his already anxious state, you were late to meet him outside the hotel. He shouldn’t have been mad but he was. Unreasonably so.

“Hey,” you huff, jogging up to him, “sorry, my train was late.”

You lean up, giving him a quick peck. It’s a quick kiss - a hello, casual, like a couple would do.

Steve looks down at your empty hands, “where’s the gift?”

You pause before letting out a breathy groan, picturing the gift box you insisted on wrapping for Steve sitting atop your kitchen table.

It shouldn’t have been a big deal, but Steve was already feeling like shit after a particularly rough day of teaching summer school. He also recounts the shitty interaction he had with the barista this morning.

Instead of regulating his emotions, he decided to be a total grump and take it out on you.

Steve rolls his eyes and you let out a soft laugh at him, thinking he’s feigning dramatics. But he’s not, and your laugh just pissed him off more.

“You seriously forgot it?” he asks as you walk into the elevator, and you notice his irritated tone.

You shrug, “it’s fine. You can give it to her when school starts.”

“That’s in like two weeks,” he rebuttals.

“I’m sure she’ll need a new Dutch oven then too,” you say, the sarcasm hitting Steve’s ear sharply.

“You’re not even sorry?”

You scoff, “for what? Forgetting the gift? Really?”

“Yes forgetting the gift. It’s a birthday party and we’re showing up empty-handed and late,” he says quickly, “that’s so fucking rude.”

“Geez, Steve, what’s your deal?”

“I just didn’t think you were so inconsiderate,” he huffs as the elevator door opens. Music hits your ears as you step out onto the rooftop bar.

“Fine, I’m sorry for forgetting the gift and for being late,” you grumble, following Steve toward his group of friends. You tug his arm, holding him back just before you reach the group.

His eyes meet yours as you say, “Are you okay?”

Instead of shrugging it off and letting you in, explaining he’s had a shit day, Steve brushes you off with his casual sarcasm, “never been better.”

You scrunch your eyebrows together, but he’s walking up to his friends before you can speak. You push your anger to the side and greet the group, falling into easy step with them all.

You and Steve have practically avoided each other the whole night, the tension between you two at an all-time high, and for what? Because you forgot a birthday gift?

You look at your watch, realizing it’s almost midnight, and reach for Steve. You both had an early morning tomorrow and agreed to leave early. You grab onto his arm, leaning close in a low voice, “We should go. It’s late.”

He turns away from the conversation he’s having and barely looks over at you as he speaks, “Yeah, I’ll meet you down there in a sec.”

You hesitate, never in your life have you felt so dismissed. What the fuck has gotten into him?

So you purse your lips and give him a tight nod, turning to leave without saying goodbye to anyone. Steve of course notices your attitude, letting you walk away.

A whole fifteen minutes goes by before Steve finally meets you on the street. Your arms were crossed at your stomach as you rocked back and forth on your heels. You notice his mop of hair exit the revolving door and you try so hard not to snap at him then and there. Instead, you look away, chin high and jaw clenched.

He can practically see the steam fuming from you. He feels bad for his attitude. He wasn’t sure why he was so angry at you, he just was.

“I’ve been waiting a while,” you murmur, not looking at him.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t ready to go yet,” Steve says, that insufferable arrogance popping out.

You whip your head at him, glaring now, “What the fuck is up with you tonight?”

He stares back at you, asking himself that question. Maybe it’s self-sabotage or maybe it’s what he truly thinks, but Steve can’t help but fixate on all the little things you’ve done “wrong” in your relationship. You were forgetful sometimes, crass and blunt, too ambitious, and narrow-minded at times. But what really got to Steve wasn’t these tiny things, and a part of him knew that, it was that familiar feeling of fear that crept up on him all of a sudden. Things were going too well for you two, and he was afraid to settle in.

You blink back at him, unable to read his tense expression. Your eyes soften, “if this is about the gift, I’m sorry. Okay, really-"

“It’s not about the stupid gift,” he finally says.

“Then what’s it about?”

Steve shrugs, avoiding your gaze, “Nothing. It’s fine.” He starts to turn to walk down the sidewalk but you step after him, swatting his arm with your purse. He winces.

“Stop and talk to me,” you state firmly.

Steve looks at you hesitatingly, “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been thinking about us. What we are.”

“We’re dating, Steve. It’s not that crazy.”

“But it’s not weird to you? That we’re now this normal couple?”

“No,” you cross your arms, “it feels pretty organic to me.”

He puts his hands on his hips, “even after everything we’ve been through?”

You look away dismissively, “is that what this is about? You’re still hung up on the past?”

“How could I not be?” Steve’s voice a higher pitch now, “You broke my fucking heart.”

“We were nineteen Steve!” You yell, exasperated, “We are different people now, and what we’ve had in the last year should show you that.”

“But how can you be so sure we’ve changed? That we won’t fuck it up again?”

You shake your head, “I’m not sure. But that’s okay. That’s what being in a relationship is. You have to rely on how you feel and I-“

You pause, a small smile creeps onto your face as you say, “And I love you. I know that I love you, so I don’t worry about anything else.”

Steve gazes down at you, pain evident on his face. The crease in his forehead deepens as he shakes his head, “I’m scared.”

Your eyes soften at his vulnerability finally peeking through. You want to reach out to him but you don’t. Instead, he continues, “I’m scared to get hurt again. I’m scared you’ll leave me and I’ll lose you. I can’t do that again. You’re my best friend.”

You suck in a breath, letting his words sink in. Hurt colors your face as you speak, “I can’t just be your friend, Steve.”

He stares back at you, the silence lingers as dread floods through your body, unsure of what the boy in front of you is thinking.

“I don’t know, I just can’t do this,” Steve finally says, the words hitting you like a dagger.

You step forward, “Don’t do this.” You grab his hands, “you’re scared, I get that. But we can do this together.”

He pulls away, avoiding your eyes. You feel a cold rush through you as you’ve lost total control of the situation.

“What can I do? Please just tell me,” you plead, not caring that you’re begging at this point. Something you swore you’d never do for a man. But this isn’t just any guy, this is Steve. Your Steve.

“Stop, please-“

“You love me right?”

“Of course I love you!” Steve shouts, his chest tightening.

“Isn’t that enough?”

Silence settles over you again, and this time you understand. There’s nothing you can say to change Steve’s mind. Maybe he made this decision way before you reconnected. Maybe he knew from the first time he kissed you that you were never the girl he would end up with.

You look away, eyes watering. A car alarm goes off a few streets over, chatter from down the block, an ambulance blares, the sounds of the city come back into your senses.

You look back up at Steve, his lips pouty and eyes red. “this isn’t me leaving,” you say, your voice small, defeated, “this is you pushing me away.”

Steve looks down at the ground unable to watch you walk away. So you turn, walking down the sidewalk with your hands tucked into your jacket pockets. You almost think he’s going to run after you, calling out your name, and admit how stupid he is and that he didn’t mean any of it. But Steve doesn’t move, he just lets you walk away again, the same way he did all those years before.

September 1993 Things were tough, to say the least, and Robin was caught right in the middle of it. For the past two weeks, she’s watched both of her friends quickly descend onto their own paths of madness.

You poured yourself into your second year of law school, arguably the hardest one of them all. You hardly ever left campus, holed up in the library until late into the night, unable to sleep.

Meanwhile, Steve was doing just as bad. He barely ate, his hair was unkempt, he was irritable, and not the same cool teacher the students remember him to be. He was drinking more too, a lot more. It helped him forget you because that’s what he thought was best. Like forgetting you would save him from any further pain.

It got particularly bad when one night, a Tuesday mind you, he got so drunk he picked a fight with some random guy. Luckily Robin was there, and sober, to stop it. The guy was some rich asshole from out of town - preppy, loud, and obnoxious. Then his buddies called out his name - Peter.

Now it wasn’t your ex-boyfriend Peter in the bar that night. But, Steve, being drunk and never having met the guy, thought that this douchebag was in fact your Peter. So he sauntered up to the guy and punched him square in the nose, which earned Steve a fist to the jaw, knocking him back into the bar so fast he didn’t know what hit him. Robin and the bartender jumped in before the guy and his friends could beat the shit out of Steve. Yet, he still woke up the next day with several bruises and a nasty hangover.

Robin held an intervention as soon as he came back from school the next afternoon.

“This has gone too far, dude,” she says seriously, sitting at the kitchen table across from him.

Steve leans back in his chair, a pack of frozen peas held to his purpling jaw. Robin leans forward, her hands folded together on the table.

"You need to talk to her," she says.

"I can't," he mutters.

"And why the fuck not?"

"Because this is the right thing. This way no one gets hurt."

Robin looks at him like he's the biggest dumbass in the world, and right now he may very well be. "How do you feel right now, huh? Are you not in both emotional distress, but also literally in physical pain over her?" she asks.

Steve looks over at Robin, knowing she's right. He's created this giant excuse, an unexplainable reason to break things off with you. But no matter how much he tries to justify his actions, he knows he's wrong. He knows he's just scared and that's not enough of a reason to push you away.

"If she and I really do this. If we become an actual committed couple, how do I know she won't just leave again?"

"You don't," Robin says, "none of us ever know if the person we love won't just magically get up one day and decide we're not the one."

Steve definitely doesn't want to hear this.

She continues, "But also a million other things could happen too. Like a piano falling from the sky and BOOM - she's dead."

"Robin-"

"Look," she says, "I may not know the future. But I do know that she loves you, Steve. She's been head over heels for you since we were kids. And yeah, you two grew apart, whatever. But I saw the way she looked at you that Christmas at the Wheelers. That poor girl was ready to sit back and wait for you to be single again. And didn't she?"

Robin leans back, eyes narrowing at Steve, "Don't keep her waiting any longer or you might just lose her for good."

Steve weighs Robin's advice and then your words come to mind, begging him to stay with you - telling him you loved him. This was what he wanted all those years ago and he was too blinded by fear to see it. Even when you were right in front of him.

He lowers the frozen peas onto the table and sighs, "I'm such an idiot. A goddamn fucking moron."

Robin smirks and Steve continues, "She hates me now."

"No she doesn't."

"But she thinks I do."

"Hmm. Can't have that."

Steve stands up quickly, knocking the chair back into the wall. Robin winces at the crash.

"I need to talk to her," he says, "like now."

Steve crosses the room to grab his shoes, slipping them on as he organizes his plan, "it's Wednesday. She has study group on Wednesday nights."

He locks eyes with Robin and smiles, "I'm really doing this."

She gives him a reassuring nod. Steve takes a deep breath, rips open the front door, and rushes into the hallway.

"Good luuuuck!" Robin yells out after him as he dashes down the stairs and onto the street.

Steve looks at his watch and groans, the trains run further apart on weekday nights. The next one won't be for another 45 minutes. A taxi pulls onto the street. Steve tries to hail it down, but it drives by. He throws his hands up, annoyed. He weighs his only option to get to your campus. Good thing he wore his sneakers.

The library should be mostly empty at a time like this, but some students linger at the tables, peering into their books and swapping notecards with friends.

You had stepped away from your study group a few minutes ago to grab a law deposition needed for the next class. You roamed the law stacks, your mind elsewhere. The last two weeks have been long, monotonous, and heavy. Your mind is in a constant battle between your pride and reaching out to Steve. Ultimately, pride won every time.

He rejected you outright. Sure, his reasoning was completely flawed, but he still let you walk away again. Maybe you two would never get it right. Timing, feelings, the past - maybe it was all too much to get over. Yet you were so hopeful this time. You really felt like this was it. If Steve would have asked you to be his forever, you would have said yes.

But he didn’t and now you were walking like a heartbroken zombie in the Northwestern library.

Steve runs down the street, weaving past people and cars. A taxi cab honks at him for dashing out in front of it. His hand slams on the hood as he runs by.

He runs onto campus, long legs stretching across the grassy quad to the library. He knows exactly where to go, remembering the nights he helped you study or the time he felt you up in between the bookshelves, hands sneaking under your skirt.

Steve skids around a corner, catching sight of you descending the library steps. You say your goodbyes to your classmates, your cute schoolbag hangs on your back. Steve's heart skips a beat as you turn toward his direction. He breaks into another run to you.

Then he's in front of you, standing a few feet away. His breath ragged and his forehead shiny.

"Hi," Steve says, panting.

"Hi," you let out, confused and slightly entertained by the way Steve braces his hands on his knees, hanging his head to catch his breath. You try not to smile, "did you run here?"

"Mhmm," he mumbles painfully, nodding his head and taking a deep breath.

"That's like 15 blocks," you say in disbelief.

He rises now, standing up straight, back to being taller than you. Steve nods, "it is."

You shake your head, feeling hurt more than anything, "why are you here Steve?"

"I fucked up," he says, plain and true, "I thought being friends would be easier, that neither of us would get hurt. But you were right. We can't just be friends. We never were."

You take a measured breath, trying to calm your rising heartbeat.

Steve continues, "I've been in love with you my entire life. I tried to push you out of my mind, believe me, I spent years trying. When things didn't work out with other girls, I blamed it on the usual things. But I always knew the real reason it never worked out. They weren't you."

Steve can't look away from you as he speaks, "I made the second biggest mistake of my life letting you walk away from me two weeks ago. My biggest was when we were teenagers and I let you walk away the first time. I don't plan on letting you do that ever again.”

He steps closer to you, "I plan on loving you forever. If you'll let me."

You stare back at him, mouth suddenly dry and pulse racing. You shake your head, tears filling your eyes, "of course you would do this."

His face falters as you take a step toward him. "Of course, you would run across the city to say something so, so - perfect."

Steve's eyes widen, hope flooding back into him. His breathing calms with every step you take towards him.

You're overwhelmed with emotion. Eyes watery, cheeks red. You want to be mad at him for breaking your heart and making you hate him oh so much the last two weeks. But, you can't. Not when he's standing in front of you pouring his heart out like he is. His lips pink and pouty, big brown eyes staring expectedly into yours.

Steve catches your eyes as they flicker down to his lips and back up to meet his gaze. A small smile creeps onto his face.

"You make it so hard not to love you," you say.

He steps forward, slowly ending the distance between you. Your pulse quickens.

You nod, "but I do love you, Steve. I really, really do."

He grabs your hip with one hand, the other gently cups the back of your head, pulling your body into his. Steve lowers down, your noses touch and his lips hover lightly above yours. He closes his eyes, pausing for just a moment, before closing the gap and pressing down to kiss you - hard and with purpose, like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

But you both know this won't be your last kiss. It's far from it. You'll have thousands of more kisses in your lifetime with Steve, and this one. This one feels like it's just the beginning.

--------------

a/n: I love the friends to lovers to exes to friends again to lovers trope so much. it's so messy and emotional, I hope that translated through with this!

tags: @httpazxnth@wwylmlive@xaimary@dogstarbytes@micheledawn1975@ortega29@djodirt@ahead-fullofdreams @andvys

[osteoptimist]

For those in the "like a trad fantasy adventure but wished it was better than D&D in some way" camp, I heartily recommend Draw Steel by MCDM (you might have heard of the creative director, Matt Coleville). It doesn't fully release until later this year, but I've been following the development and the playtests have been really fun.

It's a game about killing monsters, and it does that really well, but it also has some amazing social mechanics (the Negotiation rules are great for getting your players to think about NPCs as complex individuals) and they put in a lot of effort to make it fun for the Director to run.

My players have told me they love this game for a lot of reasons:

YOU DON'T MISS. There is NEVER a time where you're up in combat and a bad die roll means you basically lose your turn. In D&D, a handful of bad rolls can mean you don't accomplish anything the entire night! Draw Steel uses a 3-tiered system for its rolls, and even a tier 1 roll still does something. Attacks always hit, you're rolling to see how strong the effect of your ability is (they're almost never just plain damage) and how much progress you're making. The enemies are making progress too!

Character creation gives you a much better idea of who your character is. You pick a Career as part of your background, and that gives you a list of possible "inciting incidents" that caused you to leave your old life behind and become a hero. There's also a big list of Complications, each with a benefit and a drawback, that help make your character more interesting. Things like having an elemental inside you, a fairy stole your face, or you just don't have a head at all!

No "martial/caster gap". The warriors get awesome powers and the mages aren't bogged down by a bloated list of spells. All the classes have access to big flashy abilities that change the fight in meaningful ways. Plus, the high-level abilities are designed to be cool and fun, not give the Director a headache by rewriting reality.

Fights are super dynamic. I've seen lots of 5e combats devolve into everyone standing in a big clump and hitting each other until someone goes down. That never happens in Draw Steel. Your abilities are throwing enemies across the battlefield, slamming them into walls or each other, creating or destroying terrain, and letting your allies reposition.

If you like running D&D, I can say I've found Draw Steel to be much less draining at the end of a session. Hell, I'm usually energized and excited to go home and prep the next session. Some of the big things I like as a Director:

Because of the way resources in Draw Steel work, adventures AND individual fights get more dramatic as they go on. The heroes are gaining power, but they're getting more and more vulnerable if they make a mistake. It creates amazing automatic tension, and its so much easier to pace the game. (Unlike in D&D where characters can unload their strongest abilities in the first round, and then go take a long rest between most fights).

In combat, I get a ton of tools to make the fight dynamic and memorable. I gain a special resource called Malice every round that I can use to activate stronger monster powers or change the battlefield, bosses have special Villain Actions that help pace the fight, and the enemies all have unique abilities that make them feel different. No "claw, claw, bite".

The Negotiation rules I mentioned provide a mechanical scaffold for important discussions. What really sold me on it was the way it gives players a real incentive to try to figure out the motivations of the NPCs, turning them into three-dimensional people with their own inner conflicts.

While it is still a complex game with a lot going on, all that complexity has a purpose. I remember trying to learn 5e and being confused by ability scores vs ability modifiers, spell slots vs prepared spells, all the different things the word "attack" can mean, etc. The designers went back to first principles and have done a pretty good job to make sure all the rules are useful and make the game more fun.

I could go on. There is a lot I didn't touch on. Downtime activities and crafting, TITLES holy shit titles rock, the way your Ancestry is like a grab-bag, the way initiative supports teamwork, kits instead of a list of weapons, the game is awesome.

To be clear, it is still a lot like D&D in the broad strokes and has a lot of similar underlying assumptions. It's a challenge-based game where combat is the primary way to solve problems, you get stronger by overcoming those combat challenges, getting stronger means you get more powers and items to fight more combat challenges. But it does all that stuff with much better design and great creative design.

So okay, these two things are both true:

A lot of people default to D&D as a universal game despite it only supporting a very narrow genre and playstyle

A lot of people do like the playstyle supported by D&D but might take issue with specific mechanics and the actual implementation of said mechanica

These two groups are different and when making game recommendations to these people it's good to recognize which type of person you're talking to.

If someone wants a game that supports investigation, in-depth social gameplay, or faction-level play, then you don't recommend Pathfinder. That's like someone saying "I wish I could fly but I only have a skateboard" and you saying "well a skateboard is no good, have you considered rollerblades?"

Now if they actually do say that they like the playstyle of D&D (whichever part of that they mean) then you can go ahead and recommend Pathfinder. Or Break!! Or Errant. Or any number of the other fantasy adventure games out there. I'm actually thinking of making a big post that's just all the different fantasy adventure games I can think of. But at that point you do not recommend Apocalypse World or Monsterhearts or whatever. Those games kick ass, but c'mon, when people are clearly communicating that they like a trad fantasy adventure but wished it was better than D&D in some way you don't want to scare them with stuff like "Make a move that follows" and "look through crosshairs" and "act under pressure," geeze.

And this is also why I often ask people to be specific when they ask me for game recommendations upfront or make it perfectly clear why I am recommending whichever games I am in the given context. Like recently when someone genuinely asked me for alternatives to D&D I answered from the point of view of looking for a D&D replacement. It wasn't an exhaustive list but idk I like all those games. Anygway

[leannswritings]

Desperately need another Seongje ff😈

TIME

Syn : after missing your boyfriend’s touch you take matters into your own hands..only to be caught by him.

Warning : NO PROOFREADING!!

smut (ofc) , sub?seungje , voyeurism, pillow riding, swearing, hitting

Word count : 1.6k

A/N : You ask and you shall receive. I’m obsessed with seongje.. my headcanon is that he’s a switch.. like it just feels right. Also its so hard to find fics where he isn’t a total creep , I know he’s a freak but ?!? so if you’re like me searching hopefully this helps… lemme know what yall think.. this was kinda rushed 😿

“See you later.”

The same old words you have heard over and over the past few weeks.

All you wanted was seongje next to you for more than a few minutes, which never happened as he only came back for a few to do random little things or shower before leaving through the door once again. Only giving you time for a couple of kisses, and nothing more. You couldn’t help but be upset, your personal time had become “union time”.

Being alone at night wasn’t something you enjoyed, especially as someone whose blood ran hot throughout it.

You laid on the bed with a pillow between your legs, scrolling through your phone waiting for that familiar sound of the door opening. Looking at the time you realized he may not be coming tonight as the time he usually does has passed. You didn’t know what consumed your mind more, the need to be touched or disappointment in that very moment. Your legs tightened around the pillow you had between your legs, your hips slowly starting to move. It didn’t take long before you moved from your side and repositioned yourself on top of pillow . Before you realized your mind had became hazed in lust, you only had one thing on your mind at the moment.

“Seongje..”

You softly moaned as you rubbed against the pillow. You didn’t know if it was due to how upset you had been for the past few days, but you felt more sensitive than usual. This small rub against yourself had given you more pleasure than usual. Of course it wouldn’t amount to the pleasure seongje would’ve given you in this moment, but it was better than nothing. The temperature in your lower body continued to rise, causing your hips to go in a faster and unstable motion.

You talked to yourself and called out seongje name as you hit and rode out your climax, Repeatedly saying his name over and over again. Maybe that’s why you never noticed him walk in, or stand there and watch you for the past few minutes. You probably would’ve never known if you haven’t heard clapping behind you.

“You really know how to put on a show. did you really miss me that much? Do you miss my touch..that much?”

He stood in the doorway, watching and analyzing your movements and face expressions as he spoke, also the way you reacted when you saw the obvious bulging. Your eyes lighting up like the sky on new years. You quickly got up stumbling from the bed, your legs weakened from your previous actions and forced yourself in his direction. When you reached him you didn’t know how to react, you desperately wanted him to touch you, but on the other hand you were pissed that he made you this desperate. He leaned in to kiss you only for you to reject it with a slap.

“Yes..but I’m not gonna let you touch me. Not yet.”

You grabbed the collar of his jacket, dragging him towards the bed, sitting down in front of him before pushing him down to his knees. You liked this look. You on the bed and seongje on his knees looking up at you with desperation in his eyes. It was new to you, he was usually the one in control. It was a surprise he didn’t try and take control by now he would been on top of you, but he just let whatever you were about to do happen. He followed your every movement with his eyes, watching you reach over the backscratcher on the bedside table.

“Don’t move. Just watch me.”

You placed the backscratcher next to you before you started to trace the outline of your body, giving him a painfully slow show. It didn’t take long for you to slightly lift up your shirt to reveal your bare lower half, slowly spreading your legs to give him a clear view of what he desired so badly. He moved his hand towards you in hope of touching you in that moment forgetting what you had said in the previous moment. You quickly picked up the backscratcher and hit his hand.

“I said don’t move”

A reminder.

Seongje seemed to be enjoying this more than you did, he enjoyed being tested, told what to do, and being hit by you. The pleasure was at a peak. He purposely moved around a few more times to get hit by you as you sat in front of him playing with yourself. The sight of him being hard and fighting against his pants really did something to you, he was really holding back on the thoughts to touch himself in front of you.

“I want you to wait, just like I waited for you… I want you to feel what I felt.”

At this rate he might cum through his pants, you really fit into a dominant role, he hoped this wouldn’t be the last time you would treat him like this, he started to wonder if he should ignore you more to get this type of reaction.

For the next few minutes you touched yourself in front of him, your goal wasn’t to cum or even please yourself it was to make him desperate and crave you even more, with the idea of something so close to him yet so untouchable. You removed your hands from yourself and just sat there for a minute looking, and contemplating what to do next. During that time your foot rubbed against his chest, moving downwards towards his crotch. Another reminder that in that moment he was below you in every shape and form. You slightly applied pressure to his crotch with your foot, causing him to move against it. In that moment you thought your teasing was enough, but that didn’t mean you wanted him on top of you right now.

“You want to make up for what you did? You want to fuck me don’t you? Quickly yes or no”

You knew he wouldn’t say no, but you asked anyways just to toy with him.

“Yes. Please.”

You stood up in front of him, once again grabbing him by the collar giving him an idea to stand up. You quickly made him strip and lay on his back, he, of course didn’t fight back one bit. You climbed on top of him, sitting on his stomach, His tip touching your butt. You hovered over his face, smiling at him before going for a kiss. The desperation really showed in the kiss, he reached out to put his hand in your hair just for it to be smacked away and moved above his head. Going down his neck, leaving hickeys where you could, making sure it was noticeable, before going back for another kiss. You broke away from the kiss. Looking back, you slightly rose your butt to position yourself onto his dick. As soon as you lined yourself up properly you plopped down without any warning, causing a groan to slip out of seungje’s mouth. Due to the height difference you couldn’t keep his hands held above his head so you held it in front of you, using it as some type of handle.

“Fuck. Wait.”

Seungje groaned out, the sight of your chest bouncing, the zero warning, and the random speeds you were going at was too much for his brain to process in such a short time. All he could do was watch you or watch the ceiling. His moans and groans were music to your ears, adding a cherry on top of your already sensitive whip cream. There was no set speed you were going at, now that the teasing was over, your goal changed, you now had the goal to please yourself unlike earlier. You moved his hands from on top of his stomach to your hips, giving him permission to hold you. He didn’t try to redirect your speed but he gripped your hips so hard you were sure it would leave a mark.

“What a loser, you’re about to cum aren’t you?”

His grip got tighter as he nodded, you were surprised that his grip could get tighter, at this point you weren’t sure if you’d be able to walk tomorrow due to the pain in your hips at the moment.

“Hold it, don’t cum until I do.”

“I don’t… I don’t th—“

“Just shut up and hold it.”

You were going crazy at this point, your speed picking up chasing that feeling you were oh so close too. All this bouncing was definitely going to have you hurting in the morning. The tightness on your hips, your breast bouncing up and down, and your body getting in shaken up? It was so much pain and pleasure. It didn’t take long for you to hit your climax, your hands pushing against his stomach to hold yourself up as you did. Your head almost falling backwards off your body as you looked up at the spinning ceiling.

Seungje followed quickly behind you, as it was taking everything in him to not do it earlier.

You both stayed in that position for a while, letting everything soak in.

————————————————————

Seungje and you cleaned up together.

As you showered you both talked about his unfair schedule and time that needed to be spend together. Of course he joked about ignoring you more so he can experience not being in charge for once again. You going along with it, joking about how funny it is to see a gang member being dominated in the bed. Seungje spent the rest of the night with you, sharing ideas and cigarettes.

[punkssavior]

turnbuckle bunny.

alternatively; ‘all yours’

cm punk x fem!reader

to celebrate a relationship milestone, punk takes you with him to train at the wrestling gym.

third installment to the tired of you series. links to: part one, & part two.

content warnings: (18+) smut. shower sex. pain kink/blood play (who’s shocked). pnv. choking. pet names. exhibitionism. cockwarming (??)

yes this fic has two titles because i couldn’t decide on whether or not i liked the funny or one or the sweet one more. i’ll let you decide.

wordcount: ~13k

tags!: @theasiaabattoir @freyadronning @wwediamond @nicejacketsstuff @kkd1021 @urgogodancer @itsvxlentine @h0ney-fiction @zoeroxiie @samthefall @hotgothic02 @pureheart3d @tiacordelia02 @postwelcome @xbriexx @roseydoesypoesy @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @gamer-carat @j1nxexe @reigndropp @regalgenocide @xkittypunkerx @ritosparty @peterparkernotfound @reebs-luvs-rhodes-and-wrestling @sky-dreamer @fairiebabey @ouijabug @slutforsmutstories

It had been five months, to the day, since Punk officially asked you to be his girlfriend.

Was it childish of you to want the semantics? To want to be whisked away, wined and dined, and gifted a comically large bouquet of flowers on the night he asked you out? You didn’t think so.

And so, since that day five months ago, on the 18th of each month, Punk did exactly that.

It was fun for the first four months; watching Punk enter through the front door after his late night matches and training sessions with his wrestling boots in one hand and a bouquet of wildflowers in the other— withholding some sort of surprise or gift for you that he’d kept hidden in the glovebox of his car. Each month was something new.

Month one was a pair of studs; a dainty set of pearls to put in your new second ear piercings. Punk had taken you to get that done, too.

He’s already had quite the influence on your opinions of piercings and tattoos.

Months two, three and four were necklaces— all in which you still wear every day. Month three was your most favorite of all; a silver braided chain and a heart-shaped locket, with a picture of the two of you inside of it.

You remember it’s there every once in a while, clutching it between your fingers whenever you were having a particularly hard day at work, or simply just bored of the reruns playing on your TV.

Despite it being you and Punk’s five-month-iversary, it was just one of those nights. You were curled up on the couch beneath a blanket after a long day at work, watching an Ancient Aliens marathon. Punk always poked fun at you for indulging in that fake television documentary bullshit— finding the host of it as creepy and off putting as the aliens that they talk about.

You’d stepped into your pajamas the second you got home, knowing that your beau wouldn’t return until much later on. The soft blue glow of the screen and the occasional flashing lights were the only thing keeping you awake and waiting for Punk’s arrival.

Just then, you hear a car door slam shut, and the honk of a horn from outside. You shoot up excitedly, muting the TV and scurrying over to the kitchen island to wait for him.

“Honey, I’m hooooome.”

Punk’s teasing voice rings out before you can even see his face— you withhold your excitement for only a moment longer, not wanting to knock him off balance by pouncing on him in the doorframe.

You hear the crinkling of cellophane, the squeaking of sneakers, and finally you see the face of the man that you love.

“Hello gorgeous,” you purr slyly, colorful petals and foliage catching your eye as you scurry closer. Punk chuckles at your display of affection, holding out his arms for you to skip into them.

You do exactly that, pulling him into a tight embrace that slightly teeters him off of his feet. He wraps his arms around you tightly, planting a rough kiss against your hair.

“Missed me so much that you got up from the couch? I’m impressed. You’re usually out cold by now.”

“Mmmh, nope. Didn’t wanna miss out on my surprise,” you squeak excitedly, stealing a quick kiss from him that leaves his face hanging lazily, dressed in a smile.

“It’s not much of a surprise if you’re expecting it, player. That’s not how surprises work.”

“Well, sue me for being happy you’re home. And sue me for loving pretty flowers that I have the pleasure of keeping alive while you’re out beating people up for sport.”

Punk laughs heartily, finally having the chance to close and lock the door behind him. He steps out of his sneakers, propping them against the wall and dropping his wrestling boots beside them. You take the bouquet of colorful flowers from his hand prematurely as he hangs up his keys, knowing damn good and well who they were for.

“These are so pretty. Where’d you get them?”

“I‘ll never tell.”

“Booo. Lame.”

You give Punk a moment to collect himself— letting him shed his layers of workout clothes and free his hands from wrist tape after a long day of prepping for a match he has this upcoming week. The way that Punk worked amazed you; for his busy schedule left him barely any time to rest. He stayed up late, got up early, and had roughly two off days in an entire three week work period.

A part of you felt concerned for him, but the bigger parts knew that he was a workhorse. There was always something new to prove when it came to him, and there was simply no rest for the wicked.

After putting your new flowers in a vase with fresh water, you sat on the couch patiently, Ancient Aliens was still playing in the background. But you weren’t paying the show any mind. You were far more into the STRAIGHT EDGE tattoo that scrawled across your boyfriend’s midriff. The one you’d seen hundreds of times.

“Like the view?” Punk asks slyly, stepping out of his sweats to only his boxers, balling up the pants and tossing them towards the base of the stairs.

“Always. Get your sexy ass over here before I throw the remote at your head.”

With a quirk of his eyebrows, Punk obliges, striding towards you with those long legs of his and scaling the back of the couch to plop down next to you. He immediately pulls you into his lap, letting your hands sprawl across his pecs and travel daintily towards the back of his neck.

Your hands tangle in his hair as you admire the new beard that dawned Punk’s jaw. He was usually the type of guy to keep his facial hair minimal— only allowing a bit of chin stubble and the occasional 5 o'clock shadow.

But Punk has a hard time saying no to you. Asking him to grow it out was simply just selfish.

“I’m still getting used to this beard. It’s fuckin’ hot,” you hum, blurting out your thoughts as they come.

“Hot? It makes me feel like a lumberjack.” Punk scoffs, lifting his hips in order to get you closer.

“And you don’t think big burley men that chop down trees are hot? C’mon. I know about your little tendencies.”

“Alright, alright, enough out of you, smartass. It was one time and I told you about it in confidence. No need to wave it in my face.”

You open your mouth to speak again, but before you could even take a breath, Punk is pressing his slender, tattooed index finger against your lips, smushing them together.

“Aht aht,” he tuts, “Pump the breaks chatterbox. I’ve actually got something to ask you.”

Your eyes widen, still running aimless lines up and down the side of his jaw to the top of his right pec, “Mmmwhatisit?”

Though your lips were pressed together by the force of his finger, Punk’s face softened at your muffled curiosity. He takes a moment to make sure you’re at full attention, before removing the blockage from your mouth.

“I didn’t get you another surprise this year. No jewelry, or any of that other shit.”

You shrug, a satisfied smile sprawling across your lips as you remember just where you’re sitting. Right on his lap.

“S’really not a big deal, Punky Brewster. You could’ve walked in here empty handed and I still would’ve been trying to bite you through your t-shirt.”

You chomp at him playfully, your teeth clicking together as you pretend to nip at his nose. But Punk just holds his hand out, pressing it against your forehead to block you from getting any closer.

“You’re an animal.”

“Stop holding me back from my truest potential.”

In the heat of it all, Punk seemed to stop, and think to himself for a moment; possibly willing to risk it all and forget everything he was about to say to you. But instead, he shook his head, getting his mind back on track by anchoring his hands to your hips.

“No, no. Stop. I wanted to ask you something. And you’re making it really hard to do that while acting like a feral raccoon.”

“Thought you nicknamed me Bunny for a reason—”

“—Zip it.”

Slightly stunned by his sudden stoicness, you make a fake zipping motion with your hand, pretending to tie your lips up under lock and key. Punk sighs, and you could feel his leg start to anxiously bounce up and down beneath you.

“Since I didn’t get you anything, I was wondering if maybe… you’d possibly want to…on the offhand…try something new together?”

Your forehead notches in curiosity, scoffing at Punk’s embellishments and inability to get through his sentence, “New? Like what?”

A nervous chuckle leaves the pit of his throat. Removing one of those hands from your hips to run it through his hair, he sighs, “Well, I have an idea. But— I don’t think you’re gonna like it. Which is why I'm uh, hesitant to ask it.”

“Enough with the theatrics, Princess Punk. Tell me what you want. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?” Punk asks, his eyes slightly shimmering with hope.

“Mhm, just about. Unless you’re gonna ask me to go skydiving— I’d rather take a dirt nap.”

“Not skydiving, no. But honestly, I think your hatred for what I’m about to ask you has surpassed your fear of free-falling out of planes.”

Suddenly, your eyes narrow. You were onto him, and he was definitely up to something. You hated how much time he had whilst alone in the gym to sit with his own thoughts and plot against you. It was annoying as all hell.

“Just ask it,” you blurt, taking your hands off of his body and tightly lacing your arms across your own chest.

“Come to the gym and train with me?”

“Are you out of your mind?!”

Your hands clam up almost immediately. It was a known fact that you and the gym never particularly got along. There was a brief phase you had in high school where you’d go on mile long runs to sweat off the stressors of being a teenager— but other than that, working out was only something you found yourself doing when you were forced to.

“I really don’t think it’s that big of an ask, Bunny,” Punk chuckles, putting on those dumb, pleading eyes of his, “It’ll be fun. I’ll teach you some moves, we’ll get a little sweaty, and after we’re done I’ll take you to the ice cream shop and we’ll get milkshakes.”

“Don’t try to bribe me with dairy, dickhead. You know how much I hate exerting more physical energy than I’m legally obligated to.”

“It’s not a bribe. It’s a peace offering. Consider it a prefaced apology,” you scrunch your nose at him, and he swats your sour face away with his index finger, “It’ll be an ‘I’m sorry for whooping your ass’ milkshake.”

“Now why would I want you to whoop my ass? Did you hit your head tonight or something? C’mon, baby. You should know me well enough by now. I don’t. Do. Workouts.”

Punk sighs, momentarily defeated. He had resorted to rubbing small circles against your cheek with his thumb, trying to do anything in his power to butter you up. But for once in your life, you stood tall. Well, sat tall, with your chest puffed and your arms crossed.

“I understand if the answer is no,” Punk huffs dramatically, running his hand up your chest to rest at the base of your neck. His head cocks, those kelly green eyes still sparkling and pleading, “But it would make me really, really, really happy if you did.”

You were now tangled up in a web of conflict. After thinking to yourself and questioning your capabilities as a girlfriend, you realize that Punk does indeed make a lot of sacrifices for you.

The playing field was mostly equal; Punk has sacrificed many of his favorite songs in place of yours when driving in the car. He stays up late and gets up early just to have your morning coffee on the kitchen table before you even arise.

But then again, you compromised your fear of awkward social situations on the multiple nights that Punk had forgotten his gear, and needed you to barge through a crowd of sweaty wrestlers to get it to him.

“Five months together and we’ve never sparred,” your beau continues, blowing out a dramatic breath, “I think it’s about time I whipped you into shape.”

“You calling me out of shape?” you quip, raising your eyebrow and feigning sarcastic hurt, “I’ll have you know that I— stay active.”

“I should rip those pretty lips right off your face. No, I’m not calling you out of shape. I’m just— pointing it out.”

“Well it’s a shitty observation,” you bellow, your expression suddenly growing timid as you trace the Pepsi logo tattoo on his shoulder, “I’d rather put a bullet through my head.”

“Does the drama ever stop with you?” Punk laughs, taking your theatrical blows straight to the gut and letting them glide off his back, “Look at me.”

Punk cradles your chin in his hand, forcing your gaze back up into those eyes of his. You knew full and well that you were being dramatic, but Punk had grown accustomed to your stubbornness. He tilts his head to the side, almost condescendingly, and trails his thumb against your bottom lip.

“What would be in it for me?” you ask quietly, knowing the answer already.

“Honestly? Nothing. But it’s a day out with me and the days that we do get to spend together are few and far between—”

“—Yeah, and who's to blame for that?—”

“—Me. I’m taking full responsibility for being the asshole that’s always at the gym. Then again, you can’t really complain. You knew what you were signing up for.”

You sigh again; it’s loud and dramatic, demanding attention from the hand of his that sat idly by your hip. Punk does what he does best, picking up on your signs and trailing that hand towards your midriff.

“Can I just sleep on it?” You shake your head, that’s now scrambled up with thoughts and a sliver of guilt for being so hardheaded, “Let me wallow in my suffering before I let you beat me up in a wrestling ring.”

“Sure. Sleep on it tonight. But have your answer by six sharp tomorrow.”

“Six? In the morning? Puuuunk!”

Your whining is no match for him. He was coaxing you with his eyes alone, and you could tell that he wouldn’t give up on this no matter how much you pleaded or negotiated.

“It’s not even that early, Bunny girl. If I was really a sadist, I’d have you up at three and make you run across the Brooklyn bridge to have you at the gym by 4:30. You’d be surprised at the way some of the meatheads at my gym start their fuckin’ days.”

To divert from the pitiful look on your face, you roll your hips against his, feeling his cock take shape almost immediately beneath his boxers. He stiffens when you move, anchoring his hand onto your hip and letting his fingers tighten and dig into your flesh. His eyes narrow at you, the corners of his mouth straightening into a disgruntled line.

“If you’re gonna have me up at ungodly hours of the morning, the least you could do is let me get you into bed first.”

You continue the torturous drawl of your hips, rocking them fluidly back and forth, back and forth. A small grunt leaves Punk’s lips, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip before he’s snapping his gaze towards where your bodies connected.

“You don’t wanna wear yourself out before tomorrow, don’t you, Bunny?”

“Maybe this will be a testament of my stamina,” you shrug, playfully walking your fingers up his shoulder.

“If I give you what you want, you better have your mind made up by the time your head hits those fuckin’ pillows.”

You freeze for a moment, your lips pushed to the side.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

His eyes widened in pure disbelief, “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. Don’t ask me again though, I might change my mind.”

Before you could even grasp the gravity of what you’d just agreed to, Punk is pulling you by your cheeks into a fierce, passionate kiss. He sighs into your lips, murmuring sweet nothings as his back lifts from the couch cushions and takes your entire body with him.

“You’re the fuckin’ best, baby.”

“Best in the world?” you giggle sweetly, teasingly, nipping at his lip ring.

“Don’t get a big head now,” Punk tuts, keeping you steady and sitting on his lap while your legs wrap around his back, “Save that confidence for the ring.”

You pull Punk into a kiss, immediately staking claim over his mouth and tangling your tongue with his. He groans into you, loving nothing more than the taste of you after a long day of training.

“You’re lucky that I like you a whole’ lot,” you breathe out between heavy, dirty kisses, “I wouldn’t do this shit for anybody.”

Just then, as you’re consumed in the moment and the feeling of his lips, Punk stands, hoisting you up with him. You squeak at the act, wrapping your legs around his hips and locking your ankles to keep you steady.

“And you’re lucky that you’re easy to convince, Bunny baby. ‘Cause I’m not gonna go soft on you.”

“Clearly not,” you gesture down to where your bodies connected, teasing him with your double entendre, “I expect to be worked out, stretched out, and worn out.”

With your comment, Punk raises an eyebrow, shifting his hands down to grab your ass and hold you up higher, “You’re still talking about tomorrow, right?”

“Mmh, sure. Whatever floats your boat.”

The kiss continues. Punk is walking you blindly through your shared space and up towards the bedroom. He’s trying his best to keep himself collected, as you can tell by the feeling of his fingertips digging into your skin whilst he moves his assault of kisses down towards your neck. You giggle as he slowly walks you up the stairs with precision and ease, adapted muscle memory from all of the instances where he simply couldn’t wait to put you through the mattress.

“I still can’t believe you said yes,” Punk huffs, kicking open your bedroom door.

“Neither can I,” you reply, a fluttering feeling sitting at the bottom half of your stomach when he adjusts you in his arms, “But if I think about how early I have to get up tomorrow for any longer, I might start crying.”

“Ah, yes, there she is. My stubborn, whiny Bunny. Have you ever thought about your wrestling persona? Because honestly, you’ve got the chops to cut a wicked promo. Everyone would fuckin’ hate you.”

“I’m assuming that’s a good thing in wrestling?” you snap, your eyebrow quickly raising in defensiveness, “it better be, I’ll kick your teeth in if it isn’t.”

Punk chuckles, finally lowering you down onto your bed, “Of course it is. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said it. But you just proved my point. You’re one of the most quick-witted people I’ve ever met—I really think you’d love standing up there in the ring with a microphone.”

“Don’t turn this into an ass kissing sesh, Punker. Just because I like the sound of my own voice and am sparring with you tomorrow doesn’t mean I want to do it full time. I’m not built for that life, I’m too fragile and perfect. Would you throw fine china in a dishwasher?”

“It’s not recommended, no—”

“—Exactly my point.”

You could feel the teasing energy culminating in the air, Punk unable to hide his catty smile as he ran his tongue across his top teeth. The bottom part of his tongue piercing catching between them.

“You’re gonna fuckin’ get it if you keep talking like that,” he warns, loud and clear.

“I’m here for it, baby. Get that one last ego boost in before tomorrow, when you actually have to be helpful and patient with your favorite girl.”

“Mhmm, that might be hard, knowing you…” His hands slowly trail up the front of your body, allowing you to lower your back down onto the mattress.

“…But I hope I’ll be getting much more than an ego boost from those pretty lips tonight.”

—

A bedside alarm clock gets your heart rate pumping promptly at 5:30am.

It took you a moment to sit up fully, drowning in grogginess and remnant sleepy thoughts, with your head feeling like a bag full of bricks as it lifted off of your fluffy down pillow.

“G’mornin’,” the casual, yet oddly chipper sound of your boyfriend’s voice snaps your attention to your chest of drawers. He was already stepping into a pair of dark green nylon gym shorts, wearing a pair of compression leggings that hugged his butt in all of the right places.

“Mmh.”

That was, unfortunately, the only sound you could muster.

Punk chuckles at your morning grumpiness, shaking his head while walking over to stand at the foot of the bed. A packed gym bag sat beside his feet on the floor, but it felt silly to roll your eyes at an inanimate object.

“I don’t get my usual? My ‘good morning Punker, ready for me to make your day hell?’. Is my girl too sleepy for her knock knock jokes?”

His teasing tone mixed with the frustration of having to wake up earlier than the sun made you seethe. You huffed out a short, dramatic grumble, and rubbed your eye with the heel of your palm, “Stop it. I’m not in the mood.”

“I hope that’s temporary,” Punk smiles cattily, grabbing your ankle above the blanket, “Because I’m gonna need you to get up, dressed, and in the mood within the next half hour. Up and at ‘em, hot stuff. Chop chop.”

He wiggles your leg playfully, before clapping his hands together, the sound loud and piercing to your freshly woken ears.

“Bossy,” you grumble again, shaking your leg out of his grasp and ripping the blanket off of you.

The cold air from your bedroom hit you like a bus. You understood why Punk was acting the way that he was, as you agreed to be his wrestling protege for the day. But you just wished the day didn’t have to start so fucking early.

You’re a good person. Not a morning person.

As you hobble to the bathroom, you hug your arms to your chest to keep the heat that was once beneath your covers, and curse the existence of blackout curtains.

Although you had put up quite the fight, it didn’t take long for you to get ready. April mornings were still unforgivingly brisk, despite the promise of Spring, so you opted to layer up with a tank top and crew neck stolen from Punk’s collection. You slid into a pair of biker shorts and layered a pair of matching grey sweatpants over top of them.

“Prison break?” Punk’s eyes narrow and float down to your groutfit, eyebrows wiggling, “Is that your court-mandated jumpsuit?”

“Fuck off, I picked the first thing I saw.”

“The world is your oyster and so is my closet, Bunny.”

“One more rich comment out of you and I’m smacking that lip ring off your face,” you growl, sliding past him towards your closet to bust out your beaten up tennis shoes from high school. The only athletic shoe you owned.

“It’s hard to believe that you’re this fired up already. Should I comment on those busted ass sneakers or would that earn me a roundhouse to the balls?”

“You’re skating on very thin ice,” you pinch your fingers, nose scrunched and already bothered enough by the fact that it was morning.

“Oooh, don’t tempt me.”

After you were all dressed and equipped for the day, Punk led you down the stairs with a begrudged wrist tug. He began to speak vaguely about your plans for the gym; dancing around what he was to teach you and how exactly he’d go about it. He also explained the importance of warming up, although he didn’t feel the same towards the heat in his car.

He opened the door for you, not without a kiss to your cheek, and let you slide in. You were still pouting and groaning at just about every quip he had up his sleeve. But that didn’t mean much to Punk. What meant something to him was the fact that you were there with him, when you typically wouldn’t be.

“No breakfast? Coffee? Nothing?” you ask softly, watching Punk maneuver out of his parking spot.

“We could get breakfast if you want. I usually don’t eat ‘till later but— I don’t want you to suffer too much.”

A smile trails his sentence, clearly enthralled by your presence. His persistence and knowledge was almost endearing at this point, so you decided to cut the stick up your ass attitude and try to enjoy the moment.

“Maybe just a coffee. I’m definitely gonna need it.”

As he drives through the already busy Brooklyn streets and makes his way onto the parkway, Punk’s hand moves from the steering wheel down to hold your thigh. You glance down at it, ogling at his tattoos and getting yourself hyped up for the long day ahead of you.

Punk sighs, tapping the hand of his that remained on the steering wheel, “Be honest. Are you actually mad about this?”

“No, I’m not, I’m just— being dramatic.”

“I expected that.”

You shake your head and flick his arm, “I’m willing to make today a good day despite my phobia of workout equipment and sweating. And besides, doing it with you is the easiest part.”

“You think so?” he asks, his eyes flitting to your face in his peripheral view.

“I know so, baby. A full day spent with you is the best gift of all.”

“You’re corny,” Punk scoffs, but you could see the blush race to his cheeks.

“I know.”

The rest of the drive to the gym was ordinary; metal music turned down to tolerable volume, a pointless conversation about why Punk thinks red means stop and green means go, and far too many sexual quips for this early in the morning.

After a quick coffee run at your favorite local Manhattan coffee shop and a half-assed park job in the parking garage where the two of you shared your first kiss, you and Punk set off into the crisp morning air towards the training gym.

“Have you thought about what moves you’re gonna teach me?” You ask from beside him, sliding down to interlock your hands.

“I have,” he hums, “I most certainly have.”

Punk swings your arms as he walks, his sentence trailing off into a whistle. But you eye the side of his face, an eyebrow raised with a demand to know more.

“You’re… not gonna tell me?”

“There’s no fun in just— telling you. You’ve gotta find out for yourself once we get in there and warmed up.”

“Puuunk,” you whine his name, watching the back entrance to the gym appear closer and closer, “C’mon. Just tell me one thing. One move you’re gonna teach me. Please? Pleeeeease?”

“No. I’m standing my ground just this once. You get away with a lot of shit with that cute face and big sparkly eyes. I’d like to keep at least one thing sacred.”

“Maybe you’re not telling me because you’re scared that I’ll be better than you.”

Punk stops in his tracks, just before the entryway of the gym, “Scared? Of my cute little Bunny? Baby, don’t make me laugh.”

“I thought Bunny was an endearing nickname! Not a condescending one for when you feel threatened by my super secret wrestling skills,” you huff dramatically, stomping your foot against the pavement.

No match for your empty threats, Punk slides in front of you, his arms crossed as he blocks the gym door, “I’m not being condescending. I’m just layin’ out all the facts. If you get in that gym and prove me wrong I’ll admit it, but there’s no way that the girl who runs from treadmills is gonna be an instant pro.”

You roll your eyes. He’s got you there. Maybe you figured puffing up your ego to be as large as his would make all the difference. But in reality, you still knew practically nothing about how to do moves, or when to tap out.

You barely knew anything about wrestling at all.

“I’ve been to a few of your matches,” you continue on your tirade, poking a finger into his toned pec, “Maybe I’ve subconsciously picked up on a few things.”

Just then, Punk snatches your petite hand up in his larger one, bringing that extended pointer finger of yours up to his lips.

“Well when you put it like that— I’d like to think that I lead by example.”

You giggle softly, and Punk nips at the tip of your finger with his teeth. He just can’t resist pulling you into him, snaking his arms around your waist to stare deeply into your eyes.

“Surely this is a fire hazard,” you quip, eyes narrow and fueled by the flame of your beating heart for him.

“Who gives a shit? The blockheads in there wouldn’t leave their machines if a tornado swept through the building.”

Punk leans down and envelops your lips into a soft, commanding kiss. You found it hard to pull away after a moment, though it was necessary for your day to continue. A breath catches in your throat when he flees the kiss with a tug to your bottom lip.

“Punk,” you warn, “you better cut it out. We might not even make it to the locker room at this rate.”

“We’re already blocking the doorway. Might as well take the next step— inside.”

With that, Punk steps forward, and fishes a blank white keycard out of his pocket. He taps it on the sensor, the door unlocks, and just like that, he’s swinging it open for you like the gentleman he is. Before entering, you take a deep breath, feeling Punk’s eyes boring into you as you ground yourself.

“Ready to kick some ass, Bunny girl?” he asks sweetly, his arm gesturing towards the inside.

“You fuckin’ know it.”

When you walked into the gym, you were surprised at how empty it was. It was a Sunday morning, and maybe Sundays were considered off days for most training athletes, but not for your beau. He had you up and early before the sun even reached the horizon and packed away in the car like a little stowaway. You could tell that Punk was relieved by the vacancy of the gym, as he immediately made a beeline towards the men’s locker room.

“Alright uh, stay here— I’m gonna scope it out. Make sure there’s nobody hidin’ in the showers or anything so you can get undressed.”

He shoots you with finger guns and the click of his tongue before backing away into the locker room. You wave him off, glancing around at where you’ll be spending your day.

The gym was very open concept, a raised ceiling with large ceiling fans, reminiscent of a brutalist warehouse. Surely it was a reinvented warehouse that was bought out by a company with not enough money to raise its own structures. Off to the side were a few scattered workout machines, and in the middle sat the ring.

You were tempted to step inside it, to bounce off the ropes and see what it was like to feel the adrenaline rush of a thousand little spindles of fiber burning across your back. Something about it was just so enticing, despite your total lack of interest in being a pro-wrestler. But instead of giving into your thoughts, you just waited, with your shared gym bag slung over your shoulder.

“Coast is clear, hot stuff. Come on in here and strip, we’ve got work to do.”

You giggle at Punk’s head popping out to fetch you, scurrying towards the locker room excitedly. You weren’t sure why, but seeing the ring so free and empty of any well-meaning and trained professionals gave you the confidence boost that you sorely needed.

When you stepped into the locker room, Punk was already standing by the sink, admiring himself in the mirror. He had been waiting for you to come in, keen to how he spun around the moment you appeared in his line of sight.

“Hand me the bag,” he demands, his arm outstretched and fingers wiggling impatiently.

“Already acting like a princess. No tiara?” you comment, hooking the bag to his forearm.

“We all know who the real princess is in this locker room. Take off that prison jumpsuit and get the fuck over here. I don’t have all day.”

When you pull off your crew neck, you nail it at his back, shaking your head as you start to step out of your sweatpants. You were now left in a tight fitted tank top, a pair of spandex bike shorts, and a ruthless smile that you couldn’t seem to wipe off of your face.

“Come here. I wanna wrap up your wrists.” Punk’s words are muffled by the permanent marker wedged between his teeth. He motions for you to join him at the mirror with a wiggle of his eyebrows, although his gaze was occupied by the search for his wrist tape.

“Ooooh, wrist tape. Thought that was reserved for the pros.”

“Don’t be stupid. This is my one opportunity to turn you into a mini me, and I will not pass it up.”

You lend him your wrists, and watch as he skillfully finds the ripped end of the tape to start unraveling it. He tears out a large piece, keeping it intact to the roll, and starts to gently, skillfully, wrap it around your wrist and hand.

He does the same to the other, occasionally catching your wandering eyes as they stare at his nimble fingers.

“You’re really good at this,” you comment, your voice soft and silky.

“And you’re kissing my ass. I’ve been doing this shit every day for the past ten years.”

“Can’t blame a girl for trying to flirt with the hot guy from the gym.”

“What, is this a roleplay now?” Punk chuckles, ducking down to tear the last bit of wrist tape off the roll with his teeth, “We could do the strangers deal. And maybe later, I’ll let you play doctor.”

“God no,” you huff, catching onto his playful crosstalk, “I take it back. I’m already out of my element as is. The last thing I need right now is to play pretend.”

“Actually, I think you’re wrong.”

He finishes wrapping your other wrist in tape, mastering his methodical routine.

“Wrong? How so?”

“Wrestling is intertwined with playing pretend. If you pretend that I’m not your boyfriend and instead, the thorn in your side that can’t seem to let you win no matter how hard you try, you might be motivated enough to put me away.”

You raise a curious eyebrow, though still deeply infatuated by the sound of his voice, “You want me to pretend to hate you?”

“I’m not saying exactly that but, something along those lines. A bit more of that unbridled Bunny-girl rage might be good for your first time in the wrestling ring.”

You take Punk’s words into consideration. Perhaps it was all just a big game of pretend. Although he seemed to dumb it down in a way that you, someone with the bare minimum knowledge of wrestling, would understand, there seemed to be some truth hidden within.

Once both of your wrists were wrapped, it was finally time to hit the floor. Punk jogged out of the locker room, but you trailed timidly behind.

“Don’t get shy on me now, you were just talking a big game outside that door over there.”

“I was trying to impress you.” You raise your eyebrows, and watch closely as Punk saunters over to a stretching mat tucked in the corner of the gym.

“Lying out of your ass doesn’t impress me, baby,” he pauses his sentence with a grunt as he bends down to move a set of weights out of his way, “Progress does.”

You roll your eyes; he was right once again. He motions for you with his eyes through the mirror, and you join beside him, feeling two feet small.

“Okay, we’re gonna stretch first. We’ll do some individual dynamic stretches, some partner stuff, and then I’ll get you into some high knee laps around the ring. Sounds good?”

You nod wearily, your face already half flushed with dread. “Sounds like I don’t really have a choice.”

Punk eyes you in the mirror, laughing down to the floor before hooking his arm around you and pulling you into his hip.

“Atta’ girl. Such a fast learner.”

And so it began. You were off like a shotgun. The stretches were the tamest part of your workout, though you hadn’t felt those parts of your body being worked out since last night. It was nice to feel looser, agility wise. The partner butterfly stretch was probably your favorite, since the compensation for stretching out your legs and groin was a kiss on the lips.

When it came time for jogging, high knees, and jumping jacks, Punk took it slow. He made sure not to leave you in the dust of his long, muscular legs, and instead kept the pace steady for a novice like yourself.

After your tenth and final lap around the ring, your body already felt like it was teetering on the edge of weakness. It was just sad at this point.

“That… was the warm up?” you puff, resting your hands on your knees with your face to the floor.

“If it got your heart pumping and your legs feeling like they could wrap around the back of your neck? Yes. That was exactly it.”

Punk began to stretch his legs again, grabbing each ankle from behind and pulling them upwards. He watches you as you collect yourself, hoping you’ll look up to see the still unwavering smile on his face.

“Consider me… warmed.”

“Yeah?” he teases, running his tongue across his bottom lip and letting it catch onto his lip ring, “You look like you just got hit by a car. Poor thing.”

Your breathing was still labored and choppy, but that didn’t stop you from flipping him off.

“While you’re out here collecting yourself, I’m gonna go get changed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Changed? What do you mean changed? You’re already in workout clothes—”

Before you could even dream of continuing, a tattooed finger is smashed against your lips. “Shhh. You’ll see.”

When Punk walks away, you’re left standing in confusion. In soreness. In feeling worn out and whooped already. You were upset at the lack of sleep you’d gotten last night, though it was nobody’s fault but yours (and Punk’s collectively, since it takes two to tango).

As much as you hated to admit it, you were excited to get to work. Learning wrestling moves that you’d seen done so many times in the last few months, and learning them from someone that you trusted more than your own two feet. The more you stood and listened to the fans whooshing around in the gym, the more that looming pit of anxiety turned into adrenaline.

In the midst of your space out, a long, loud whistle catches your attention. Your body snaps to it, without thinking, and is faced with just about the most glorious thing you’d ever seen.

Was Punk… in a fucking Speedo?

Your jaw hangs open, tongue practically unraveling and falling out of your mouth as Punk stands at the entryway of the locker room shirtless with his hands on his hips.

“Was it worth the wait?”

“Holy shit.”

You were extremely tempted to run up to him and tackle him in wet, sloppy kisses; the sight of him so bare, yet so damn confident in his skin made you want to tear through that small scrap of spandex with your teeth. There were Chicago stars lining the waistband, the garment itself a vibrant shade of canary yellow.

At every match you’d attended in the last five months, Punk has wrestled in basketball shorts. You’d heard him talk about wrestling gear before, recalling the time he told you about his trunks, and how they almost came down to his ankles during one of his less recent matches. You assumed what he was wearing right now to be the trunks in question.

“You look killer,” you whistle, walking circles around him like you were a puny dog barking up a tall tree, “That bikini bottom has got me bothered.”

“Consider this a part of your gift— I never train in trunks. Ever.”

“It is—quite the gift,” you guffaw, shamelessly ogling at the smallest bit of his stomach that spilled out over his waistband, “but I can tell you right now, this is gonna be a distraction for me.”

“You’ll get over it. The same way I do when you’re making pancakes in no bra and a t-shirt.”

“Touché.”

Entering the ring was the one thing you were anticipating since walking in here; and now, it was finally time. Punk slid beneath the ropes on his hands and stomach, twisting into a kip-up that made your insides churn. He leans onto the ropes with a devilish smile, glancing at your figure down on the floor.

“Don’t try that at home,” he jokes, walking to the corner of the ring and holding out his hand for you, “M’lady.”

You blush at the simple action, timidly stepping up the steel stairs that lead to the apron. He watches your every move like a hawk: each step you took, how your spandex shorts complimented your hips and ass, how there was now sweat forming on your chest and pooling towards your sports bra.

You bow your head, feeling the energy of an imaginary crowd chanting your name and buzzing with excitement. A smile spreads across your face as Punk holds open the ropes for you, allowing you to step into the ring gracefully.

“You just nailed that entrance, baby,” Punk smiles, almost sizing you up with his eyes, “They love you.”

“Who, the crowd?” you giggle in return, folding your arms as you watch your lover bounce off the ropes a few times.

“Mhm. Can’t you hear ‘em screaming? They’re yelling ‘Bunny! Bunny, you’re so perfect! You’re the most beautiful girl in the world!’”

He makes fake crowd noises, cupping his hands around his mouth. But you’re so rowdy with anticipation that you smack his hands away, teetering on the edge of losing patience.

“C’mon, stop stalling. Teach me something. I’m fuckin’ pumped.”

Punk raises an eyebrow at your ballsy gesture, “A stark contrast from this morning.”

You run in place, pretending to toss punches at him and shuffling back and forth on your feet, “Oh get over it, you know I’m not a morning person.”

Standing at attention and watching as Punk lazily traipsed alongside you felt borderline embarrassing. Were you too excited about this training session? Maybe so. But now, you were just waiting for anything he was willing to throw your way.

He stays still, arms crossed, occasionally snickering at you trying to provoke him. There’s a flicker of desire in his eyes; you could tell that he hadn’t the chance to appreciate how sexy you look in your workout clothes.

“Swing at me. Go on, do it. I’m ready.”

“Are you?”

“Oh, for the love of God Punk, yes. How many times do I have to say it?!”

Punk smirks, running a hand through his hair. He’s got an air about him now that looms over the gym; in essence, this was his ring. His crown, his throne. You were simply just a court jester.

“Before I do anything, let me let you in on a secret. One little thing you need to know about being in the ring…”

He steps closer to you, his words fanning across your face which makes you drop your clenched fists down at your sides. You were anticipating it, waiting and watching hungrily.

But just then, there’s a wall pulled over your eyes. Suddenly, your feet were no longer on the ground, and your ass was hitting the mat.

“…you have to be vigilant.”

You stare up at him, stunned by the impact of your body giving out in such a way. A heavy breath leaves your larynx, as he just stares at you with a smile.

“Told ya’ I wasn’t gonna go soft on you.”

“Fuck you for that,” you grumble, remaining on the ground and basking in the humiliation of having your feet swept out from under you.

“No hard feelings?” he offers a hand, and it takes you a moment to grab it.

Once you’re back upright, having dusted yourself off and reconfigured your posture, you were back with a fighting chance. Your fists were, once again, clenched at chin level, egging him on.

“If you kick my feet out from under me like that again, you’re sleeping on the sidewalk.”

“The sidewalk? Don’t be like that, player. I just said there’s no hard feelings.”

The dance between the two of you continued on. From teaching you basic grappling techniques, simple move sets, and ways to dodge a punch, Punk had you trailing his every move. Eventually, you got him with a good whack to the nose— reminiscent of the punch you’d hit him with on the night you met him.

You watched with narrowed, concentrated eyes as Punk carried on like the punch was nothing, seeing blood pour from his nose, coat his jaw, and drip onto the mat with each shuffle he took.

“Alright, lunge at me,” he says, his voice rugged and eager as your matchup heats up, “Come at me like you mean it.”

“I’ve tried!” you whine, jumping in place, “You’ve dodged everything I’ve attempted!”

“Just do it. I’ll let you hit me. I’ll sell it like you just knocked my soul from my body. C’mon baby, just do it. Show me what you’re made of.”

With a steady grounding breath, you lunge at him. Two wide steps lead you right into his muscular, glistening arms. But a high pitched yelp gets caught in your throat when he ducks down, catches your midriff, and hoists you over his arm.

“Put me down!” You squeal, arms flailing as he spins you horizontally to rest atop both of his shoulders.

“Fight your way out of it. Don’t let me get the chance to finish you off,” he suggests, attempting to help, his words jagged and breathless.

“How?! How am I supposed to get— out of this?!”

You begin to wriggle your way out of his grasp, feeling his arms loosen with each sharp movement you made. He grunts as you fight, though he seemed like he was letting you off easily.

“Knee me in the face. Just’— do it, Bunny.”

“No! Put me down!”

You flail your limbs with equal force to which he was holding you, eventually sliding off of his shoulders and landing back onto your feet. You gasp in shock at your own abilities, and take the first chance you can get to tackle him onto the ground.

A loud grunt rips through your chest, a sound you never knew you were capable of making. Soon enough, you were sitting beside him, with his arm and neck both trapped in a headlock.

“Fuck!” Punk shouts, the wind knocked from his lungs as you hold him. Your confidence came swooping back in like a hawk, giving you the push you needed to extend your leg and press your shoe into his side.

The only thing you seemed to grab onto from Punk’s lesson earlier was a singular submission hold. A signature of his.

The Anaconda Vice.

“Tap out! Tap the fuck out!” you shout at him, tossing your head back as you pull his arm and neck with you.

Your head was spinning, Punk’s breathing was erratic; neither of you could believe the position you were in. You had seen him do this move before. All of the pieces may have finally been falling into place.

“Tap out you fuckin’— son of a bitch, c’mon!”

You feel your vocal chords shred with each hurtful word, you could see the blood and sweat just raining off of Punk’s face, his stubborn ways of life not letting him give up without a fight.

Through grunts, whines, and a practically dislocated shoulder, you and Punk’s eyes meet. There’s a fire between them that holds so much emotion, so much tension, so much pain.

“Let me have this! Let me win! For the love of fuck, tap out!”

“Tighter.”

You barely catch his hushed request through the sound of shuffling bodies. “What?”

“You fuckin’ heard me.”

You follow his command, stiffening your bicep and squeezing him into the crook of your elbow with another loud grunt.

“That’s it. That’s the stuff,” he nods quickly, sweat flicking off of his hair and onto your arm, “Keep fuckin’ going.”

Eventually, your grunts turned into full on shouts. You wouldn’t be surprised if someone walked in the gym and thought the two of you were getting mauled by a lion.

“Tap out!”

“Tap the fuck out!”

Ding ding ding.

The imaginary victory bell rings out in your head the moment your boyfriend’s palm starts violently smacking against the mat. He groans as you release him, the two of you collectively sighing and rolling onto your backs.

That wave of adrenaline from earlier had peaked the moment you’d successfully gotten him into a submission hold; and now, you were just simply basking in the aftermath; blood, sweat, heavy breathing and all.

“Holy shit,” Punk comments, wheezing through the two words between breaths, “I didn’t think you picked up on that.”

You roll your head over to face your lover, who was staring at the ceiling in dismay with a hand tucked between his black locks.

“I’m a good selective listener. The submission stuff seemed the most fun to me.”

“Fun?” he forces out a chuckle, “You think that shit’s fun?”

“It was fun to do it,” you shrug, sprawling out like a starfish and letting your hand drape across his chest.

“Can’t teach a pillow princess shit. You know there’s a difference between submission and submissive, right?”

“Please, I’m not a fuckin’ idiot.”

Punk laughs dryly, clearly beaten up by your little sparring match. But you just as well. There was thick air that hung above the wrestling ring, it was brooding yet wildly energetic— a palpable tension between you.

“You alright there, champ?” You speak to the ceiling.

Punk doesn’t reply.

Your lips pull to the side as you attempt to sneak a glance at him through your peripheral. His abdomen kept a steady rhythm of up, and down, up and down, catching his breath and seemingly processing the hell of a match you’d shared.

Just as you attempt to speak again, you feel your entire body being pulled by two strong hands.

“Shit!” you squeal, somehow managing to end up straddling Punk’s hips while still in your exhausted daze.

“Bunny, baby,” Punk pants, his eyes jaded and gloomy, “that shit was hot.”

“What—?”

Before you can process anything about what had just happened or where your bodies had ended up, Punk’s hands run down to the small of your back, and simply just rest there.

“You have any idea how fuckin’ sexy it is to have my own move done to me? How goddamn gorgeous you looked while screamin’ at me to tap out like a little bitch?”

You shake your head, still too much at a loss for words to even think about clapping back.

“My own fuckin’ move got me all hot and bothered, baby. All because of you.”

“I don’t—” your own thoughts are interrupted by a jagged thrust of Punk’s hips. They lunge upwards, and you feel the shape of his growing erection through the two layers of spandex that separated you.

“Feel that, Bunny? Feel what you fuckin’ do t’ me?” Punk whispers, his neck craning to let his lips meet your chest and dance towards your collarbone.

“Punk,” you whine out, finally able to digest the magnitude of this situation, “We’re in the middle of the ring.”

“Like I give a shit?” he huffs, his arms snaking around you like the anaconda he emulates, “I never knew such a sweet little thing could get so fuckin’ nasty.”

Just then, a catty smile sprawls across your face. You didn’t quite understand what your lover was on about. But after careful consideration of his words and the feeling of his cock prodding your pussy through your gym shorts; your head seemed to screw on right where his was.

“Didn’t have faith in me, did you?” you tease, taking advantage of your position and rolling your hips against him.

“Of course I had faith. Baby, I’d a’ let you tear my arms off if you kept up. But fuckin’ Christ, the way you saw your opportunity and immediately went for the kill? Talk about a murder-suicide.”

One thing about Punk, despite how much he teased you about acting like a lust-sick fool— was that he was equally as smitten.

He runs his hands past your back to cup your ass, gazing at you through those sea-glass eyes of his. You swore he hadn’t blinked in a few minutes.

“I’m glad I’ve been a good protégé,” you smile warmly, running your hands across his chest and dipping down to collect his lips into a tender kiss, “I had fun with you today.”

Punk returns the kiss, and it’s soft at first. Savoring the taste of you on his tongue while taking a moment to let it all linger. The feeling of your body, slick with sweat and pressing against his. The gentle thudding of your heartbeat, that seemed to pick up the moment your lips connected.

But just as you’re under the guise of this being a sickeningly wholesome moment, Punk’s hand snaps to your throat, squeezing the sides of it roughly enough to force open your eyes.

“Cut the sappy shit. I want a rematch.”

You gasp as the reignition of the kiss knocks the air from your lungs, wondering if you should prepare for more sparring, or something else along those lines.

“A— a rematch?” You pant, interrupted by Punk sinking his teeth down into your bottom lip, “But— we’ve been at this for hours.”

“Weren’t you saying yesterday that this was all a ‘testament of your stamina’? Where’d that fiesty girl from a few minutes ago go, hm? Did I knock your head around a few times too many?”

“You’re being such an asshole,” you giggle, pressing your lips down onto his chest and tasting the saltiness of his perspiration, “and my God are you sweaty.”

“I’m sweaty? No shit.”

His sarcastic giggle seemed to propel him forward and due to your current position on his lap, took you with him. He lifted you gracefully, with precision and ease, causing your heart to skip a beat and a small little gasp to get caught in your throat.

Punk anchored his hands on your ass to stand upright. You were now tight against his body, with your ankles locked behind his back and your hands clasped around his neck, holding on for dear life.

“Yeah. You’re fuckin’ sweaty. It’s gross.”

“Y’know, you make a compelling point there, Bunny girl. I guess you didn’t seem to pick up what I was puttin’ down as far as a rematch goes. How about we wrap up our in-ring business and take this to the showers?”

You aren’t even granted the opportunity to respond before Punk is walking you towards the ropes. He sets you down gently, and holds open the top rope to allow you to step out onto the apron. The second his feet hit the actual gym floor, you were back in his arms, and your lips were reconnected like magnets.

“You sure there’s nobody else here?” you pant, your hands unable to decide which part of his back to claw onto.

“Just trust me, would you?”

The feeling of his hands cradling the backs of your thighs was already getting you worked up— the roughness of his fingertips combined with the feeling of scratchy, unraveling wrist tape was a sensory overload. Surely the same went for Punk, since your taped up hands had been crawling across his back since the second he picked you up in his arms.

You heard the gentle squeaking of his wrestling boots guiding you into the locker room, noticing the second they hit the tiles as he rounded the corner. You were so wrapped up in kissing him, letting his tongue twirl with yours and explore your mouth while trusting him to blindly, yet softly, place your ass on the counter top.

Kissing Punk never gets old. No matter how many times you’d lean in to sneak one over the center console of his car, or the plethora of kisses he’d steal one from you to shut you up before bed. Each time was special. It was like the ground rolling under your feet while fireworks lit up the sky above.

Fireworks. Butterflies. Anything that flutters about and paints the world around you in vibrant colors. Whether that world is the comfort and privacy of your own apartment, or the sweaty, dimly lit training gym.

Everywhere Punk kissed you felt like home.

Unfortunately, that fantasy of ‘feeling at home’ was but a daydream. You were now perched onto an oddly clammy granite countertop, feverishly making out with a man who had just spent three and a half hours kicking your legs out from under you and having a damn good time doing it.

“Did you really have fun today, Bunny girl?” Punk’s words knock into your teeth, he was too eager to get his sentence out before fully pulling away.

“I did, surprisingly. Don’t think I’ve worked out like that since I was in PE class but, I digress.”

Punk chuckles, his thumb right there to catch your eyes that dropped down to his torso, “I thought you told me you do things to ‘stay active’? Was that— a lie?”

His expression feigned hurt, though you could see right through those big green eyes in a heartbeat. He was teasing you, he always did.

“Okay, I may have bent the truth. But I’d never lie. I’ll have you know that I walk to the foot of the driveway to grab the mail like, every day.”

“Training for a marathon, I see,” he puffs sarcastically, his wandering hands driving you a bit insane with the way that they cradled your hips, “But seriously, I’m proud of you. And I’m really happy we did this.”

Sincerity was a rarity, coming from Punk. But in the odd moments in which he let that big heart of his show through that tough, blistered exterior, you could almost see the glimmer in his eyes. The fluorescent lighting of the locker room seemed to give him a bit of an angelic halo and the only thing you could think about at this moment was how happy you were to be here.

“I am too. Sorry for uh, being a whiny brat about it.”

“I said it once and I’ll say it again, I wasn’t gonna go easy on you. You took that shit like an absolute star.”

“Did I really?” You were smiling so wide that it actually started to hurt your face.

“Of course, baby. You’re a fuckin’ champion.”

You smirk at the compliment, finding it hard not to shy away and blush, “Your champion?”

“Mmmhm.”

“Best in the world?”

“We’re getting ahead of ourselves now, don’t you think?”

In the ways he does best, Punk shuts you up with a kiss. You expected not to be talking for much longer— as the promise of a shower was still up for grabs. He wasted no time in upholding that promise, reaching down to thumb the elastic of your sports bra. A silent plea, permission to tear it off of you.

“Go for it,” you read his mind, catching that catty smile of his out of the corner of your eye.

He peels you out of your bra, freeing your breasts and allowing himself to cup them as he kisses you. The action pushes you backwards, a soft moan trapping in your chest when he starts to thumb at your sensitive nipples

“God, that sports bra is a nightmare. It’s tight as hell,” Punk comments, ignoring the way you squirm beneath his touch.

You decide not to answer, wondering if your hushed little moans were enough to communicate with him telepathically.

It seemed to be enough after a few moments of tender loving care, as he was now making his way towards your shorts. That spandex was uncomfortable, especially after working out in it for hours in a building with very little air conditioning.

In a frenzy of undressing, quick jabs and plenty of laughter, the two of you were fully bare. Punk had switched you over to the wall towards the shower, with your back pressed firmly against the cool tiles.

“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, do I tell you that enough?” Punk murmurs, his breathing heavy as his lips travel down to your collarbone to shower it in love bites.

“You tell me plenty, Punky Brewster. Keep it up.”

You could feel him grinning widely against your chest. His lip piercing cool to the touch, despite the heat surrounding the scenario. Cool enough to jolt your entire body the moment he wrapped his lips around your stiff peak.

You moan through a sigh, your leg seeking refuge at the notch of his hip as he pulls you in closer. He was always one to pay attention to detail, and right now was no exception.

“Punk,” you groan, your hand lacing into his jet black hair and pushing it out of his eyes.

He hums around your breast, taking his opportunity to snake his free hand down between your bodies and attach his index finger to your clit. Slow, aggravating circles around the sensitive bud bring an electric shock down your spine.

Both you and Punk were impressed by how wet you were already.

“Unreal,” Punk hisses, his face finally coming back up to meet yours and tower over you once again, “un-fucking-real.”

You raise a wobbly eyebrow, barely able to manage your facial expressions as he works away at you with his fingertips, “Hey, you started it.”

“And you let it continue.”

Without warning, Punk plunges two fingers into your soaking wet heat, causing you to gasp and your knees to buckle. His viridian eyes were like daggers, unintentionally claiming your soul.

“So fuckin’ wet for me baby. God, you’re a dream. Is what happened out there what’s got you all worked up?”

You stammer, begging your brain to let you have just one final quip. But your mouth betrays your plea, unleashing a low grumble instead as his fingers pick up pace inside of you.

“Oh, my sweet Bunny girl. Can’t even answer my question, can you? You’re so goddamn needy.”

“Punk,” you whimper his name like a song, “please.”

“Please what, hm? You’re a big girl with an even bigger mouth. I know you can say it.”

Your attempt to speak is ripped away from you the moment Punk finds his rhythm. Your rhythm. His fingers pumped deeply, hitting that sweet spot with each snap of his wrist.

“Oh, I see. My Bunny wants to get fucked doesn’t she?”

A quick nod of your head was all you could muster.

“Really?” he answers you, despite your lack of words or any sound at all, “Right here? You wanna get fucked in the locker room where I tape up my wrists and get changed? In the gym that I’m at every single day? So that every time I’m in here I’ll remember those sweet, desperate eyes of yours?”

You nod again. He understood.

“Well, I’d never deny my baby the pleasure,” he scoffs, though the situation was anything but funny, “You always end up getting what you want at the end of the day anyway, don’t you?”

Punk’s last comment seemed to resuscitate you; you were now not only able to speak, but you were able to think clearly, despite your first orgasm of the day on the horizon.

“That’s— your fault,” you breathe out, narrowing your eyes as the sound of your arousal is now audible, “You— you spoil me.”

“Oh, trust me. I know,” he replies, a sly smile on his face as he picks up on the signs of what was to unravel at the hand of his fingertips, “I never said I was complaining.”

You slam your lips against his; albeit a bit roughly. He lets out a huff, abruptly pulling his fingers out of your pussy.

You squeak. That wasn’t what you asked for, nor expected.

But you also didn’t expect Punk to pull you into the shower and press you against the wall by your neck.

The sequence of events left both of you breathless, now in a silent battle of whose eyes could make the other one fold. A flutter of your eyelashes seemed to do the trick, as you watched Punk melt before you.

“Want me to be rough?” He asks gently, his hand still clamped around your throat while the other caresses your cheek. Quite the juxtaposition.

“Do whatever you please. I’m yours… All yours.”

You kiss him again. You just couldn’t help it. He moans into your mouth and drops his arms to your waist as you run your hands across his broad chest, still slick with sweat. The passion between you was undeniable, you could kiss him for an eternity, though that wouldn’t fly in a moment like this.

Punk pulls away, laughing softly as he guides your body away from the path of the shower head. He turns the nozzle, letting that first bout of water splash against the tiles. You could feel already that it was too cold, pooling at your feet as he reached over to adjust the temperature for you.

No jokes about how you like your showers hotter than the surface of the sun, no teasing. Just you and Punk in comfortable silence as the water thrummed against the floor.

“How is it possible that you could switch from a condescending asshole to a cuddly teddy bear in a matter of seconds?”

Punk’s eyebrows raise, his hand feeling out the water as his body glistens.

“I wouldn’t be like this if it weren’t for you, y’know.”

“I hope you mean that in a good way,” you smirk, “Because personally, I like you better when you’re not being a dick.”

“But you also like it when I am. Don’t think I don’t notice.”

Punk takes your hand and guides you into the warm stream, the water falling over your heads like a storm and trickling down into your eyes.

“I guess I’ve got a bad poker face,” you smile, changing the subject, “Is this an okay time to tell you that I’ve always wanted to be kissed in the rain?”

“It is. Now, is that separate from your lifelong dream of kissing me in the shower, or—?”

He laughs again, and snakes his hands back down to where they rested on your hips, but you just sigh in awe of him, “You’re not very imaginative.”

“Meh, I’m more of a realist. But if kissing me in the rain is what you want, you bet your sweet ass you’re gonna get it.”

He pulls you back in, his lips are salted from sweat, yet inherently sweet in the way that he kisses you. The water runs between your bodies as you press yourself into him.

Your mind was racing with thoughts— but as there was a lull in the pacing of the kiss, you figured, what better time to speak your mind.

“Punk?” you whisper, grabbing his attention in an instant.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Punk’s eyes widen, his mouth slightly ajar. You were kicking yourself for speaking so out of turn but in a way, it just seemed so right.

“Bunny, baby….,” he scoffs, pure disbelief, “…Holy shit, I love you too.”

You weren’t lended a moment to process what had just been said— Punk was hoisting you up by your thighs to hold you, spinning you around to press you against the wall of the shower where the water could still reach.

The smile hadn’t left either of your faces, it was evidently clear.

“I’m kinda mad that you said it first. Had this whole spiel planned and everything—”

“Oh my God, you absolute bullshitter!” you chuckle at his sarcastic whining, unable to control your hand from brushing through his wet locks, “you can’t even decide on what you want for dinner most nights. No way you had something planned.”

“Nah, you’re right. Maybe I’m just bitter that you stole the moment,” he admits, biting his cheek.

“Well, you snooze, you lose. Now we can say it whenever, Punker. No holds barred.”

“Jesus Christ, I didn’t even take that into consideration,” he wipes an imaginary bead of sweat from his forehead, “Mind saying it again?”

You roll your eyes in protest, still being held up by his body flushed against you. The contact of wet skin on wet skin was making you antsy. Hell, the admission to loving him combined with your current position was making you more aroused than you were before.

“Fine, how’s this; I love you. So much. Now can we cut this conversation short and can you just— fuck me, please?”

Punk grumbles, taking your face in a handful. His eyes glimmer when they look at you, an expression of pure adoration, “God, I love you more.”

The next few moments spent with Punk had given you severe whiplash; first, he was kissing you tenderly, letting his hand wander across your hips, to your tits, to any place within his reach. Then, he was leaving little nips and bruises across your chest, painting your flesh in dark shades of purple where only he could see.

But suddenly, in the midst of all the whining, moaning, and the sound of water smacking against the tiles, Punk was scooping up your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“You ready for me, baby?” He asks, his voice gravely and eager.

You nod confidently, “Mhm.”

Just then, with as much core strength as he could muster, he keeps you pinned against the wall with your arms raised above, and lines his cock up with your entrance.

You glance down at where your bodies were connected, biting your lip and stifling a high pitched moan at the way he pumps himself a few times to prep.

He slides into you slowly, his thick shaft stretching your walls comfortably and drawing a long and loud sigh from your chest. You couldn’t help but smile, your eyelids fluttering closed as he pushed himself deeper.

“Mmmh, s’ fuckin’ big,” you mumble high bouts of praise, the feeling of him a bit overwhelming at the start.

“Yeah? You look so pretty takin’ my cock, Bunny.”

His hips began to snap; it was evident that he was losing all sense of control when it came to being inside of you, but he tried his best to take things slow. He wanted to savor this moment with you, despite the rough and tough flirting and the obvious desire to split you in half like a log.

“Fuckin’ shit, Punk,” you whimper out, your wrists feeling tender now as his hand kept them hostage.

Punk listens closely to the sound of your pleas, using them as means of communication as your mouth was quickly occupied by his thumb.

Your eyes shoot open when he slides his thumb into your mouth, cupping your chin and forcing your gaze into his jaded eyes.

“Look at that face. That gorgeous, gorgeous face…”

You suck gently on his finger, widening your eyes double their original size as he continues to thrust into you. It was getting unbearable— all of the emotions and feelings swarming around you had left a swirling feeling in the pit of your stomach. You were smitten, love sick, drunk on the way he admired the explicit scenes of your lips wrapped around his thumb.

He picks up the pace, you moan around him. You were thankful that he’d taken the liberty of using his own hand as a muzzle for your desperate sounds.

Tears began to form in your eyes at the pressure of his cock hitting that sweet spot with each thrust; the shower water still trickled down your forehead, swooping off the bridge of your nose. But Punk just smiled at the vulgarity of your face before him, watching remnants of leftover mascara run down your cheeks and paint them with streaks of charcoal.

“You’re close, aren’t you?”

You nod.

“I thought so, my girl.”

He slides his thumb from your mouth, antagonizing you with the pace of his strokes and watching with wide eyes as a string of your saliva follows.

“Gonna cum for me baby? Make a mess on my cock?”

Punk takes the hand of his that was once entrapped by your lips and rests it on your waist, allowing himself to thrust his hips with even more force. You yelp at the change of pace, your ankles locked around his back.

“Please. Please. Please.”

The most you could do was beg now, the both of you panting heavily at the other’s disposal. You clench your walls around him, pinching your eyes shut at the wave of pleasure that slowly started to build at the bottom of your stomach.

To speed things along, Punk reaches between where your bodies meet and attaches a finger to your clit. You were already squirming, the vulgar sounds happening around you clashing together like the sounds of a symphony.

It almost felt as though you were too busy writhing around to look at him.

“Look at me. Fuckin’— look at me.”

He reads your mind. Your wish is his command.

“Let me see that face while you cum for me, Bunny. Such a good girl...”

One last deep thrust of his hips had you doubling over in ecstasy. Though you couldn’t move very far due to the restraint of your wrists, you felt stars begin to fog your vision as the two of you chased your orgasms in tandem.

It was a fleeting moment; one simple gaze into his eyes made you melt. He grumbles, watching you unravel beneath him, shifting himself impossibly closer as he remains buried inside you.

“Punk, holy fuck,” you whisper, your voice fleeing the scene.

“You’re fuckin’ absurd. ‘Got me all messed up in the head. God, I could look at you for hours.”

What was once a moment fueled by lust and passion had turned rapidly into tenderness— there was something so special about being this close to Punk. Feeling this close to Punk. Your body was sore, and limp, though thoroughly satisfied. You hadn’t a thought nor complaint in the world about what it would feel like waking up tomorrow.

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” Punk comments, finally releasing your wrists and keeping you pinned to the wall with his body alone.

“I’d like to hope so. It’s what you signed up for.”

He smiles at your wit, bringing him back to that typical snarky expression that he wears so well. You were still in a daze from getting your lights fucked out.

After a few minutes and a plethora of stolen kisses; Punk slides out of you gently, letting your feet drop to the tiles. He steadies you with a helping hand, knowing full and well that your knees could give out at any moment.

The rest of your shower with Punk is amorous and unspoken. He had taken on the task of running out to the locker room while naked to grab all of his shower necessities from your gym bag.

He bathed you delicately, running the plush washcloth up and down your body like he was polishing a piece of fine china. You smiled at his gentleness, returning the favor moments later as you washed his hair.

After your shower, Punk set you up nicely on the warm up bench with a fresh towel and a pat on the ass. You were sure that your hearts were still fluttering after saying ‘I love you’. It was now just a matter of when the spell would break.

“You alright back there, player?” Punk glances at you through the mirror, stepping into a clean pair of briefs.

Your towel is hugged to your chest, “I don’t think I brought a change of clothes.”

“You fuckin’ serious?”

“What?! It was early! My brain doesn’t start working until like, 1pm.”

Without another word, Punk chuckles, and reaches into the gym bag. He pulls out a pair of boxer shorts and a lacy bralette of yours, still keeping your gaze in the mirror as he tosses them behind his shoulder.

The clothing lands at your feet. He smirks at his own reflection.

“I know you a lot better than you think, Bunny girl. I’m always one step ahead.”

You didn’t think such a simple thing would bring heat to your cheeks— but you were simply obsessed with the way he thought of you.

You were in love.

Once you were changed back into the clothes that you’d worn on your way in, freshly showered and well-taken care of, Punk gathers your shared belongings and slings them over his shoulder.

“Still want that apology milkshake?” he smiles, extending his hand. Another quip. But for some reason, that spell still had yet to be broken.

“You bet your sexy ass I do.”

[strwbrychffoncke]

"i feel a little less alone,, 5.9k words synopsis: the notorious & mischevious twins from your class work in tandem to put together a surprise for you contains: lnds luke + kieran x reader ,fluff! ,school au (tbh was going for hs but feels more like college after reading it LOL) friends -> lovers ? ,v light angst ,kind of oblivious!reader (sorry self-indulgent) ,sylus cameo ! (trying to drop hints) ,the twins are really silly here ,twins bickering ,they both like you ,jealous!luke ,they make chocolate together ,confession <3 ,i cant think of anything else my brain is fried note: (unedited! will edit later im too tired rn its too long) hey lol.... making myself complete these before i begin my bday event for myself hehe :x this idea has been in my head for months & finally have the will to bring it to life

-

luke and kieran were menaces.

it was apparent to anyone and everyone that had the pleasure (or lack thereof, depending on who you asked) of interacting with them. they were known tricksters, sometimes called "the crow delinquents," with rumors circulating that they never played fair, that they picked fights often, and hid clubs and shurikens in their lockers and secret compartments of their clothes.

shockingly, most believed these rumors, but you were not most, and thus you figured they were just that: rumors.

the little that you did know about them was 1, they were almost never seen apart (if one was without the other, it would be safe to assume that something was wrong). two, they often hung around an upperclassmen by the name of Sylus, notorious for his own reasons with his own reputation preceding him (and maybe he, the delinquent of the school, was the reason for the rumors circulating the twins). and 3, for some reason or another, they were always lingering around you.

not just one, but the both of them.

whether it was the seating arrangements in class (how did you always end up in the middle, you were unsure), your sacred space of silence during breaks suddenly filled with two voices either ranting, joking, or bickering with one another, the previously empty classroom you sought refuge to enjoy a lunch suddenly filled with two more presences (but how is it that you still wound up being the only one who ate in this time?), and even during your walk home, what once was a leisure time filled with your music now taken up with two boys who started being referred to as "bodyguards" accompanying you to your humble home.

despite this change in your daily life, its not like they were unpleasant, per se.

on the contrary, you very much enjoyed the twins' company in what was otherwise an uneventful day, week, month before they began talking to you. you often kept to yourself, and didn't mind it too much, but now you found yourself snorting at the bickering that broke out between the two that you had no choice but to be witness to, taking note of their preferences and spending your precious allowance on drinks from the vending machine for kieran when he seemed a little breathless, and catching yourself laughing a little too hard at something that luke said bluntly (and more so at the smack he'd receive from his brother).

if anything, you were more confused than anything else at the twins apparent attachment to you.

but well, you weren't exactly complaining. they seemed to carve their way into your heart, and you were more than happy with the new routine set in motion with the two of them around.

-

everything good comes in threes, which is how you found yourself faced with sylus of all people seated in what was supposed to be kieran's spot in the otherwise empty classroom.

you were so shocked at his presence— sitting confidently albeit questionably with one leg bent at the knee towards his chest, foot planted on the seat and the other stretched straight, arm resting on his knee as he flipped a coin over in his other— that your first instinct was to run. while you didn't do exactly that, you simply turned around, hoping that he hadn't already noticed you.

"hey."

dammit.

you stopped immedietaly, but refused to turn around. it was silent for a moment before his voice rang through again.

"come, sit. i wanted to talk to you."

this couldn't be good, could it?

you peeked behind you, only to find sylus piercing gaze already on you.

"i wont bite," he jokes, gesturing to the seat infront of him.

you don't respond but carefully make your way to your seat, settling yourself in before the so-called delinquent.

"where—"

"they're... indisposed, at the moment," he answers smoothly, cutting of your impending curiosity.

you wonder if you should pry, but before you can, he speaks again.

"those two seem to have taken such a strong liking to you that i figured i'd speak to you myself."

you feel your face heat up at his choice of words.

"well... what did you want to talk about?"

sylus leans forward slightly, elbow planted on the desk, hand in a fist where he rests the side of his head.

"what did you do to get them like that? i wanted to see the kind of person that captivated them so strongly."

your eyes widen.

"captivated...? they were the ones who approached me first—"

"they don't go around approaching everyone, now do they sweetie?"

when you think back, you're not even sure you'd see them approach anyone else, usually only sticking with one another and speaking when approached by any student.

"..no, i guess not."

sylus smirks.

"and why do you think that is?"

you fish out your utensils from the wrap, popping the lid off of your container before reaching for the rice while answering.

"actually, ive been trying to figure that out myself."

your gaze is fixed on your lunch now, scooping some rice into your mouth while eyeing what to go for next, missing the incredulous look sylus shoots your way.

"what do you mean?" he murmurs, watching as you pick up a piece of meat and happily chow down on it.

you swallow, taking a sip of water before speaking again.

"well, they kind of approached me all of a sudden one day, and have lingered around me ever since."

realizing how that may sound, your head shoots up, panicked eyes meeting sylus' gaze, waving your arms around in front of you.

"its not like i have a problem with them or anything! i just— i mean—" your gaze shifts to the side before falling back on your food, one hand falling to your lap as the other picks at the warm meal.

"i'm not sure why those two would hang around someone like me, thats all," you mumble, picking at some greens and shoveling them between your lips.

sylus raises an eyebrow at your shift in expressions just moments ago.

you were quite an interesting one, indeed.

he leans back in his seat, his propped leg falling to stretch out beside the other, crossing his feet and folding his arms over his chest.

"have you considered that maybe they like you?"

your eyes flit up to meet his, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

sylus thinks he's got you.

you swallow again, taking another sip of water, setting it down and staring straight ahead.

"well, id hope they do."

sylus' eyes widen ever so slightly. you tilt your head slightly, continuing.

"i mean, they're around me so much, i would only hope its out of likeness and not pity," you finish before shoveling some more rice into your mouth.

sylus narrows his eyes, exhaling through his nose.

clueless, aren't you?

"i meant romantically, sweetie."

your reaction is immediate.

your eyes widen before you let out a series of coughs, reaching for your water bottle in haste to gulp the liquid down and soothe your throat.

"wh-what?" you finally ask between coughs, wiping your mouth with the back of your sleeve.

"is it that unbelievable?"

"well, why would they—"

"boss!"

"y/n~!"

before you know it, you're wrapped up in several arms, with one twin sliding into the seat beside you and sliding his arms around your waist and head on your shoulder while the other stands behind you, arms wrapped around your shoulders and lightly pulling your head towards his chest.

"what are you doing here with our y/n?" the voice behind you asks, playfully accusatory, and you realize its luke.

"yeah, what are you doing here with her? is that why you made us run that errand for you?" kieran, by your side, asks in the same tone.

sylus puts his hands up in mock surrender, the twins' gazes following his movement as he stands up, lazy smirk plastered on his face.

"as i told them, i was merely curious about the person you both can't seem to stop talking about."

the twins' eyes widen, feeling their heartrates increase, sharing the same look of bewilderment as they stare at sylus.

"b-boss!"

"i'll be taking my leave now," he says smoothly, all-too satisfied at flustering the twins. you only squirm in their grasp, but they don't budge.

"and you," sylus makes eye contact with you, stopping you in your futile struggle.

"we'll speak again soon." his voice is laced with promise and you can only nod in agreement before you watch him turn on his heel, and coolly make his way out of the classroom, sliding the door shut behind him and disappearing down the hallway.

you breathe out a sigh of relief and in seconds, the twins slide into the chairs beside yours, lazer-focused on you.

"what did he say?"

"was he talking about us?"

"did he say anything strange?"

"were you nervous?"

they're questions come in rapid fire, and you have to plant a hand on each of their masks to signal them to slow down.

"sorry," they mumble in unison, lightly pushing your hands down, letting them fall into your lap.

"do you want some?" you gesture to your lunch. "i made a lot, so...."

"yes, please!" they answer in unison, their eyes skimming over the meat, rice, and veggies within the container.

already accustomed to their antics, you turn around to allow them to eat with little worry before you begin answering their questions one by one.

"he said he was here to 'see the kind of person i am?' i didn't really understand, but thats what he said."

the twins shared a look behind your back.

"he did mention you both. when i asked where you were, he just said you were 'indisposed.'"

"typical of boss," kieran states plainly.

"anything strange... well, he asked if it occurred to me that you both might like me."

in seconds, the sound of something akin to a shocked screech was accompanied by coughs, and shortly after, someone slapping the others back.

"are you okay?? should i turn around?"

"no, he's fine," kieran answered, making luke chug some juice before looking at him in concern.

"are you—"

"HE SAID THAT!?" luke cried as soon as he could speak again.

"ye—"

"what did you say??" now kieran sounded just as frantic.

"i.. i said i hoped you did like me since you hang out around me so much, because i like you both."

"you..."

"you said that..?" kieran asked, a little breathless.

"y-yeah—"

"did he say anything else???" luke interrupted.

"he..." you trailed off, wondering if you should say it.

'i meant romantically, sweetie.'

you felt your face heat up at the thought of his words again. but why would he say that? surely because he was messing with you. despite what he said or may be implying, you were sure the twins didn't, no couldn't, think that way about you, and so why bring it up and embarrass yourself further?

"he didn't say much else like that," you lied, a little relieved once you heard the twins sigh out in what you assumed was relief.

"were you nervous then? i know how boss may seem," kieran piped up after a few beats of silence from what you assumed was them eating.

"yes, actually. the second i saw him in your spot, i turned around thinking i was in the wrong room."

kieran snorted while luke practically cackled.

"ah, i wonder, hahaha! what he must've thought, ha!" luke pondered aloud, words broken between his pleased giggles.

you smiled at the sound.

you had a passing thought, for just a moment, that you'd like to hear the sound everyday.

the rest of the break was spent as usual, the twins doing most of the talking, making a mental note to talk to their boss later as they relished in what lunchtime they had left to spend with you.

-

if you were to ask kieran, he would say the moment he fell for you was well before they ever even approached you.

while he may prefer to throw himself off of the roof of the school before ever admitting it aloud, you might say that it was "love at first sight." and honestly? his only regret these days is not approaching you sooner.

he remembers the day so clearly, its almost a core memory for him. they went back and forth on the idea of going or skipping orientation, ultimately deciding to go for the sole reason that they had nothing better to do that day.

matching in simple black jeans, black hoodie and black face masks they approached the school together, talking about something he couldn't recall even if he tried.

he remembers nodding along to something luke was saying as he looked ahead towards the entrance of the doors, and thats when he saw you.

you were dressed nicely, nowhere near formal but much nicer compared to him and luke, posture anxious but with promise, phone clutched in your hand, messy pieces of hair falling to the front of your face despite the pins you had-

and then, you met eyes.

it was so brief, just a second, but something about those eyes of yours- bright yet unsure, glittering yet anxious- made kieran's heart skip a beat.

a second later he blinked and you were gone, disappeared behind the entrance doors no doubt scurrying off towards the orientation's location and then kieran remembers luke stopping by his side (when did he stop walking? he wasn't sure) his brothers' hand slapping then resting on his shoulder as kieran held a hand over his rapidly-racing heart.

"hey, you good? whats up?" luke asked out of concern but tone still light, mixed with more confusion then anything, seeming completely unaware of the sensations running through his brother's veins.

kieran insisted that it was nothing, just a little hot he managed to choke out, and despite the clouds almost completely shielding the sun behind them, luke only gave a quizzical look before nodding.

"better get inside, then!" he chirped, patting his brothers shoulder again before returning both hands to his pockets and walking ahead.

kieran knew what he was thinking without him having to say it.

bullshit, but i wont push it right now.

after all, they were twins, and to some degree, their "twin telepathy" wasn't just some inside joke.

the orientation and checking out the classes passed in a blur. all he could recall was your pretty outfit and that look in your eyes.

. . .

when he found himself in the same class as not only luke but you as well, he felt like he might implode.

though, rather than getting involved right away, he thought maybe it was better to keep his distance, that you'd come to him first.

but the longer he waited, the more impatient he got.

and the more time that passed, the more rumors began floating about them both.

he noticed you around, how you mostly kept to yourself, more often than not seen with your headphones over your ears, drowning out everyone and everything, a little dazed and lost in your own little world.

distant, comfortable, alone.

at this point, he began second-guessing himself. there's not way someone like you would willingly hang around some "shady delinquents" that just so happened to be in half of your classes.

not to mention every time he did try to approach you, his heart rate sped up so rapidly he'd always get cold feet last minute.

he was just about to sigh in defeat, faceplant straight into bed and sob his eyes out over his broken heart while blasting sad music when a notification brought his attention to his phone.

it was an email of a group project, and within it the groups that everyone was assigned to.

he opened it, uninterested, eyes skimming over the names in boredom, subconsciously looking for yours.

and he found it.

right next to his and luke's.

his heart lurched.

that evening, he let out a scream so loudly, luke was convinced he had been attacked, so imagine his surprise when he burst into his brothers room only to see him rolling around on the floor.

after that, friendship came quickly.

he, by some miracle, managed to mask his nerves behind his actual face mask and witty banter with luke, shamelessly inserting himself deeper and deeper within your daily schedule until it became natural.

luke followed suit, and though his suspicions of his brothers antics was ever present, he remained, finding solace in your company and reveling in the new addition to tease and chat away to (not with, since you mostly listened rather than spoke yourself, not that he minded, neither of them did).

kieran felt his feelings grow with each passing day, hiding it behind mischievous eyes and dramatics. he would figure out the next step later, he thought.

-

if you asked luke, he would say the moment he fell for you was after he saw you getting hit on.

honestly, it may have been before that, but he just refused to face his feelings, pushing the weird-fluttery feeling he'd get every time you laughed (either by his doing or getting smacked by his brother), smiled (he really likes that expression on you, he feels lucky to be able to witness it everyday), or touched him (either your hands grazing his after handing him a drink from the vending machine or tugging on his sleeve to get his attention, he always thought his heart might just burst right then and there).

this must be a very strong liking towards you because you were so different from kieran and sylus and others, is what he convinced himself of.

that was, until someone appeared to try and snatch you away.

even now at the mention of that day, luke can immediately feel heat creep up his neck, his ears burning bright red, the crimson spreading across his face as he begs kieran to just shut up, already! to which his twin simply laughs his head off.

it was a normal day— at least, thats how it began.

he remembers the part where he made you laugh in class, having a chill period as you three worked on your assignment together. any day he makes you laugh is a good day in his book.

and then, came lunch time.

out of the norm, you decided you wanted to eat outside in the courtyard. it wasn't often you decided this, and you always told luke and kieran they could go wherever else they wished (knowing they probably wanted to hangout with sylus too) but they had insisted they would join you.

and they did. for awhile.

at some point, kieran had said something about talking to sylus about something, saying he'd be back in a blink. that left you and luke for some time, until you offhandedly mentioned a drink you were craving, to which luke perked up and offered to grab for you from the vending machine.

"i want one too, its not biggie! ill be quick, so don't miss me too much~"

he gave a little wave and you laughed before thanking him, watching him walk off before you gathered some more rice together.

. . .

luke was absentmindedly humming to himself, swiftly tossing and turning the drinks in hand as he momentarily wondered if kieran would beat him to returning to you. at least he'd have something for him if—

"—y/n, right? we share the class..."

lukes train of thought seemed to crash.

"..been looking for you...."

he tilted his head to the side.

who...

he took a couple of steps closer, enough to hear but not enough to be immediately spotted.

"im so glad i was able to catch you on your own!"

luke could get a clearer look at the guy that approached you.

he wasn't anything special in his opinion, maybe a little charming if he squinted, dressed decently enough, he thinks as he watches the guy give a nervous yet polite smile your way.

why was he scrutinizing him so deeply?

why was he so irked at someone else looking at you like that?

why did he want to tackle him so badly?

he reasoned with himself that he shouldn't, not when he hasn't done anything.

but if he did....

luke wouldn't hesitate.

"actually, i..."

the guy looked away, scratching his cheek and giving a nervous chuckle.

you urged him to continue, how nice of you, always so nice, luke thought.

"well... i just...."

he took a deep breath.

"i think you're really cute, and wanted to know if you'd like to go out with me!"

luke has never been so filled to the brim with dread.

he quickly garners your expression, and you're nothing less than shocked.

"i... um...." you avert your gaze towards your lunch, pondering.

you're trying to find a way to turn him down.

the guy takes a step closer, holding a hand over his chest.

"come on, give me a chance! we can get to know each other, and if you dont like it, well..."

his words trail off as something behind you catches his eye.

its luke, making a beeline toward you.

"birdie~~ im back with— oh, whos this, is he a friend of yours?"

lukes tone is playful and light, but his eyes are piercing, aimed straight towards the mystery guy.

he doesnt actually know how he got here, all he knows is that his body moved quicker than his brain, perceiving a threat and acting as your shield: namely, wrapping his arms around you from behind, and planting his chin atop your head.

a cute gesture, but this way, you cant see his expression.

"oh, thank you, luke...."

"w-wait, is he...?"

suddenly the student's eyes are wide and shaking, hand trembling as he points towards the protective twin twisted around you.

ah, someone who believes the rumors.

for the first time, luke is actually grateful for them.

"y-you're the one who... he.... i— im sorry, i should've known—!"

"wait—"

you begin to stretch a hand out to gesture for the student to pause but he's already bolted off and out of sight, taking himself towards safety.

luke lets out a sigh.

even with the perceived threat gone, his arms tighten around you slightly.

he can feel his heart racing.

"you're so soft..."

"luke..?"

that somehow snaps him back, and he jumps away from you.

"s-sorry," he mumbles, shaking his head before taking his seat beside you.

"your drink," he holds the can out towards you and you thank him.

"why did he look so afraid?"

out of everything you could ask, thats the first question that spills from your lips.

luke opens his mouth to answer but is beat to the punch.

"thats because of the rumors. we are delinquents, ya know?"

luke chokes on air at the sound of kieran's voice flitting through the air as he reclaims his spot.

"sorry i took so long, i—"

"how long have you been here?" luke cuts him off.

"long enough," he answers deliberately, his eyes with a knowing glint in them.

that evening, luke never head the end of it.

but one thing was now certain in his mind:

he did not like the idea of you with someone else.

especially one that ran at the sight of danger incarnate.

he remembers the way he felt, his heart racing at the memory of you clutched in his arms, like you two were the only ones that existed for a few moments in time, and finally confronted what he'd been running from.

he liked you.

a lot.

what an awful thing, luke sighed, falling backwards on his bed, cheeks warm and rosy.

-

without having an actual conversation of acknowledgement, the twins knew that they both garnered feelings for you.

the perks of twin telepathy.

after acknowledging these feelings, they decided to work together on putting something together for you.

the idea, in theory, was genius.

they would make homemade chocolates (who didn't like sweets?), surprise you with them, confess their undying love, and live happily ever after with you.

except... someone (or two) underestimated just how difficult making chocolates from scratch could be.

"no thats— what are you doing?"

"what am i doing? im trying to follow the recipe!"

"in what world does it need that?"

"its called 'a little extra love,' idiot."

"oh, im the idiot??"

the kitchen was a mess, and their banter filling it made it all the more worse.

at some point, they mutually agreed to take a break.

kieran took a long sip of water while luke slumped down beside him, letting out a long sigh.

"this sucks."

"too bad neither of us is all that good in the kitchen."

"im not even talking about that."

kieran raised an eyebrow.

"i just mean— feelings."

kieran let out an amused scoff.

"feelings suck?"

"god, yes!" luke exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

"i mean, who even created love? we should kill them."

kieran snorted.

"you'd rather do that then face your feelings?"

there was a beat of silence.

"probably."

"idiot."

"arent you worried at all?"

kieran shrugged his shoulders.

"of course i am."

"then, why—"

"i mean, they're not the type to just up and run, ya know? they didn't run away when we—"

"when you," luke interrupts.

"when we approached them," kieran continues.

"so even if they dont reciprocate, they wouldnt leave us in the dust."

"...you really think that?"

"i know that, they proved that," kieran emphasizes his words, giving a kind looks towards his brother.

"it'll be okay."

luke sighs.

"i sure hope so."

he moves to stand up, taking kieran's outstretched hand and pulling himself up, dusting himself off.

"god, making chocolates is so sappy, isnt it?"

kieran smirked.

"do delinquents make chocolates?"

luke smiles.

"the best in the world."

-

the twins have been acting strange these days, to say the least.

you like to think you know them well. after so much time together, months upon months, you're quite pleased with the fact that you can tell them apart (not that it was difficult, you learned just how different they were from the very first couple of encounters back then) and your ability to sense shifts in their demeanors.

not that it happens often, but every so often, there's something that slips just enough to let you know something is wrong.

and more and more of those days have popped up recently.

though, rather than annoyed or down about something, they seem a little on edge instead.

you immediately noticed it the first day, when kieran was subconsciously bouncing his leg in class along with luke's fingers dancing across the tabletop.

there wasn't any exam expected today, you mostly took the time to go over your notes and study the current material, so you wondered if there was another reason for the sudden anxious movements.

"are you both alright?"

your concerned tone made both pairs of eyes flit up to meet yours, shimmering to the brim with confusion and worry.

their hearts clenched.

"what do you mean, birdie?"

"its just... you're bouncing your leg," you point to kieran's leg, who's movements seize as soon as you do,

"and you've been drumming for awhile now," you then turn and point towads luke's hands that quickly clasp over one another after pointing them out.

you lean in closer, your heart beginning to race with worry.

"if something's bothering you, you know you can tell me!"

they feel their hearts throb in sync, and glance at each other.

"we know, little birdie," luke begins.

"but, lets just say its a secret~" kieran finishes with a playful tone, one pointer finger positioned in front of his lips.

he drops his hand back in his lap, and you sigh.

"its not any trouble with sylus, is it?"

"nope, nothing like that!" luke reassures with a wave of his hand.

you frown, tilting your head and lowering your voice just a touch.

"you're not being threatened again, are you?"

kieran lets out an amused laugh.

given their reputation, they've become prone to receiving threats from some gangs and other "wannabe delinquents," as luke calls them. they had opened up about this offhandedly before, leaving your mouth agape in shock and now very much more concerned for their safety.

they simply waved you off, laughing and cooing at how cute you are before insisting they can handle themselves. shouldnt you know better than anyone else? they ask in regards to the rumors you're all-too accustomed to, with many random students approaching you to borderline interrogate you about the twins, if the rumors are true, and what your goal is with them.

(the last one always rubbed you the wrong way, your stomach turning in disdain. what do they mean "what your goal is?" if they only knew their true nature, then....

but you held the simmering feelings for the two within your heart).

kieran only shakes his head, a smile adorning his lips.

"nope! not that either."

"well..."

"dont worry," kieran cuts you off, patting your head.

"we're just fine," luke pipes up, giving a thumbs up and unconvincing smile.

you huff out a breath.

"if you say so..."

. . .

the second time is when they ditch you for lunch.

"boss' orders~!" kieran says as he leaves your favorite drink in an apology before scurrying off with luke in tow.

you didnt entirely mind being on your own even after growing accustomed to two extra guests...

but the way they left so suddenly made your heart sink.

you tried to busy your mind by scrolling on your phone as you ate when a knock at the classroom door startles you.

"mind if i join you?"

its the familiar velvet that suddenly surrounds you, grounding you and filling you with nerves and a strange sense of comfort.

you look up to crimson eyes, shaking your head as you gesture towards the seat next to you.

sylus takes his seat, looking you up and down before raising a brow.

"where are those two? its rare to see you by yourself."

you offer him your own look of confusion.

"i... thought they were with you? or, doing something for you. thats what kieran told me, anyway."

sylus' expression morphed into something unreadable before he exhaled sharply.

"sorry, but it seems they're off doing their own thing."

those words felt like a weight on your chest.

doing their own thing..? why would they lie? was it something you did?

your mind reeled.

what could it have been? you wrack your brain but cant think of anything.

did they... get tired of you?

your spiraling state must be showing on your face because suddenly you feel a sensation on your shoulder- a comforting hand.

"hey..."

you look up and for the first time see concern shining in those rubies.

he lets out a heavy sigh.

"you know, before jumping to conclusions, why dont you confront them yourself?"

-

the third time is when you stop by their dorm.

you'd been over a couple of times before, but they mostly spent time in yours, "preferring the atmosphere" they had said once when you asked.

now you wondered if they were simply hiding something.

luke is the one who answers, standing in silence with eyes too wide in shock for a second too long, probing you to wave a hand in front of his face to bring him back to earth.

"sorry, uh, co-come in!" he stutters, stepping aside and letting you in, mentally facepalming as he shuts the door behind you.

"is kieran here, too?"

"yea, he's—"

"who is it, luke?"

"its—"

"its me," you call back, and you think you hear something clatter. theres footsteps, and then he appears from behind the door.

"bi-birdie?!"

your heart picks up as you stare at them both.

"i want to talk."

they share a glance, then lead you to sit down on a couple of cushions on the carpeted floor.

its silent for a few moments, but soon you find the words you wish to say, willing yourself to just try to get through it without crying.

you take a deep breath.

"you know, if you're tired of me, you can just tell me."

the twins eyes resemble saucers. you continue.

"its been a whole week that you two started acting strange. avoiding me, blowing me off, leaving me alone... if you.."

you steady your breathing. you wont cry.

"if you dont... if you dont like me anymore, thats okay, but—"

"who the hell put that idea into your head?"

your head snaps up to kieran, whos tone of voice you almost dont recognize, being the first time you catch what sounds like a mesh of anger and regret within it.

you stare for a moment, unbelieving.

"kieran..."

"no, someone— someone must've said something, right? to put that idea into your head?"

"you... you're the ones who..."

"its not what you think!" luke chimes in, all defense and reassuring merged into his tone.

he turns to kieran.

"i think now's the time."

kieran looks at luke then at you.

"but..."

"lets prove it now, since we havent really been the best...."

kieran takes another moment to think then nods in understanding.

"wait here," he tells you before getting up and retrieving something from the next room.

he come back moments later with a little box.

"we're so sorry, y/n," luke begins, voice drowning in regretful sorrow. he reaches his hand out and you allow him to grasp one of yours.

"we... we were actually making this for you, and, well, we were pretty nervous..." kieran trails off, holding out the box to you.

you look it over, grabbing it with your free hand.

"the... secret?" you ask, remembering that day in class.

they nod.

your breath hitched.

slowly, you pull your occupied hand from lukes and use both to open the box in your lap.

inside are an array of chocolates, your favorite flavors, all in the shape of little crows.

"we made them ourselves," kieran begins.

"so... hopefully they'll taste good, and..."

"they're sort of...."

they take a deep breath.

"its our profession of love to you!" they exclaim together, wholeheartedly.

your heart rate spikes.

their.... what?

"we've liked you for a long time..." says kieran.

"and, we were planning to tell you, a little later, but..."

"we needed to give you this now, to show you."

"we like you plenty, as you can see."

luke smiles when you laugh.

"we're sorry for making you think otherwise," kieran finishes.

now they're looking at you expectantly, and you can't help but to smile, words escaping you at the heartfelt confession.

instead of responding right away, you reach for a cute little crow chocolate, and pop it into your mouth.

they watch your expressions as you take in the flavor.

first curious, then surprised, and then—

that cute smile and hum when something particularly pleases you.

you look up, gazing at the two, who still look like they're bracing themselves for something.

instead, you set the box aside for a moment, reaching forward and planting a kiss on each of their cheeks, smiling sweetly afterwards.

"dummies."

they each hold a hand over the cheek you kissed, half in awe and all in pleasure.

you could talk more about everything later. for now, you offer them some of their hard work, somehow moving together like magnets, sandwiched comfortably between their warmth as you all feed each other the precious chocolate crows.

you'd have to remember to thank sylus later.

-

a/n: why am i releasing this so late..? um as the marias once said ooo its valentines day in the city~ why it turned out so long..? i wish i knew all i can say is i was possessed n needed this out of my system even though theres barely any luke/kieran content out there sigh... sorry for the rushed ending! if this stayed in my drafts one more night i thought i might explode

-

[siri-ike]

By hooking each bat up to a neural monitor during some of these interactions, the bats were able to learn some of the potential causes for their reactions.

Most people experienced dramatically hightened levels of dopamine and slight decrease in serotonin. The dopamine made people feel intensely about him, and the lack of serotonin gave people a negative experience.

This prompted two hypotheses. If someone already has low dopamine, will they still have a reaction? and if someone has high serotonin, will the reaction be better?

The first would be easy to test. Just have Nightwing stop taking his Ritalin for a while and have them meet.

Result: it wasn't great. Dick was all over the place, and it was hard to tell whether he was put off or not.

Conclusion: Dick has been relying on Ritalin since he was 6 years old, and therefore cannot be expected to function without it.

The second test was more difficult. No one in this family has an abundance of serotonin. So, instead, they went the other way. Find someone who's used to having low serotonin.

Luckily for them, they had the perfect teammate for the job.

Garfield Logan, aka Beast Boy. His undiagnosed depression and ADHD make him the perfect candidate.

On a related note, Damian refused to get tested for either.

The whole plan had raised concerns. Such as "How do you know he has "undiagnosed" depression and ADHD?" And "Batman, try not to send 9 year olds into potentially dangerous situations challenge" and of course Tim's favorite: "What do you mean his parents agreed to this for a small fee? Do we need to call CPS?" But none of those concerns mattered as much as getting answers.

*kzzt* "Red Robin calling Beast Boy, come in Beast Boy."

"Beast Boy responding, target is in sight." Gar said mere inches from the boy staring right at him. "I could almost touch him." He places a hand directly on his face. "I am now touching him."

"Gar, we talked about this." Nightwing butted in. "Don't just touch peoples faces. You don't know if they could bite."

Gar, without removing his hand, asked. "Do you bite?"

The boy didn't answer, he more just blubbered. It was gross. Gar pulled his hand away, and a solid web of bright green snot clung to them both. "That doesn't look like a healthy color." Gar held the goo up to his own face to compare. "Nothing should look like this." He couldn't keep in his laughter as he said that. It was enough to put a smile on the older boys face.

"Who are you?" He finally rasped.

"I'm Gar. It's short for Garfield. I'm one of the Teen Titans." Gar proclaimed proudly.

"You're a teenager?"

Shoot, he saw right through his clever ruse. "Well, no. I, I'm not a Teen Titan yet. I just live at the tower for now because my family is being investigated, and my mom thinks I can't keep a secret." Gar wiped the discusting slime all over his bright purple suit. "She thinks I'm going to tell everyone that my dad isn't allowed near any minors"

"Oh." The boy looked concerned in a much too knowing way for Dicks liking. "I'm Danny." Said Danny.

*kzzt* "Take him to the shelter."

"There's a safe house nearby. It has food and everything. You can live there now because Batman and Red Robin wanna fix your spooky pheromones or something." Gar beamed as though delivering the best of news.

"Ok." Danny hesitated but decided to follow. Sneakily, he latched onto Gars' hand, who only smiled in return. It had been months since anyone let him touch them.

The test was a success. Now, they had two people who could interact with the teen. One of whom didn't trigger Batmans fight or flight. This way, they can keep tabs on him 24/7.

Dick sent Zatana their data just incase Tim's "vibes proof barrier producing belt" or Vpbpb (pronounced as a fart noise) didn't work.

Ever since the portal accident, Danny has always seemed a bit… off, to other people. But even before that, he’d always been seen as a bit of a weird kid. The people of Amity Park were, even at the start, a bit used to it.

The people of Gotham, however, were not.

If anything, they were the opposite. Living in the ‘city of crime’ had built within them keen survival instincts. Instincts that went on full blast in the halfa’s vicinity.

Most simply avoided him. Homeless shelters turned him away. Jobs, even the less than legal ones, hesitated to hire him. Sometimes people would even call the cops if he stuck around in any one place for too long.

Not even the city’s mysterious vigilantes trusted him. He sometimes caught glimpses of their masked eyes following him from the shadows. Watching. Waiting for him to show his true colors.

Or maybe he was just hallucinating. He couldn’t be entirely sure. He didn’t dare transform and risk bringing down further suspicion on himself, nor could he ask anyone to corroborate for what he saw either. So instead, he just curled further in on himself. Surreptitiously using his powers to steal the bare necessities for himself and avoiding everyone.

Not even during the worst of the anti-ghost sentiment in Amity had Danny felt so alone.